Take Care of Him Johnny Cake
by CaityJH
Summary: After the kind-hearted Johnny Cade died, (Dally is still alive) The gang changes, but for better, or for worse? Dally stops caring, Darry gets stern, Two-bit's no longer his jokester self, Steve is quiet, and Soda, well Sodapop does something he'll forever regret to his beloved little brother.
1. Chapter 1

All rights and credit go to the lovely S.E Hinton. I own nothing.

 **TAKE CARE OF HIM JOHNNY CAKE**

PONYBOY'S POV:

Things have been rough going since Johnny died. None of us are the same, not really. Sure, it's been about a month since our loved Johnny Cade died in the hospital, but the whole gang just isn't... _whole_ anymore.

Dally doesn't hang around as much anymore; you'd mostly always see him hanging out at Buck's or with Tim Shephard. Dal took poor Johnny's death pretty hard. If I hadn't found him in that grocery store, banging up everything, who knows what he would have done. Johnny and Dallas were real close, in their own little way. Dally looked out for Johnny, and Johnny practically saw Dally as a hero. After Johnnycake died, right there in front of me and Dal, you could practically hear the life draining from Dally; you would've thought he was the one dying. Dallas Winston isn't the same, and I doubt he ever will be.

Two-bit drinks more too. He doesn't sleeps over and hang out with the rest of us as often as he used to, it's just...he's not _Two-bit,_ you dig? He doesn't crack those sarcastic jokes as much anymore, doesn't give any of his "two-bits" like he would have before a month ago. He'll attempt at one every now and again, once a jokester always a jokester I guess, but it's not the same. None of us joke around as much as we used to, not just Two-bit. Shoot, I'm surprised we haven't gone back to calling him Keith. He probably wouldn't be too fond of that though, sad or not.

Steve is...strange. He's quiet. Always quiet. Maybe it's just when I'm around, but what do I know, Steve was never quiet, especially around me, he couldn't go five minutes without teasing me or calling me a tag-along. He'll throw strange glares or glances my way sometimes, and he'll huff at me too, but he doesn't tease or be mean to me anymore, he's just quiet. A quiet Steve...never thought I'd see that one before.

Darry is still Darry, hounding on me every time I bring home a bad grade, or stay out too long and forget to call, same as before. Too bad our promise to Soda didn't last long. I tried, I tried real hard not to argue with Dar, but it's mighty hard not to when you come home after a long day and you're greeted by an angry, yelling big brother wondering about the C I got in math and the D in history. I know, I've done way better, and i'm not exactly happy with my grades lately either, but shoot, can you blame me? I lost my best buddy a month ago; I can't exactly focus much anymore. Darry just doesn't understand. Even less than he used to. I guess he's just shook up over what happened in Windrixville and Johnny and all that, and maybe he's just mighty worried, but gosh, it's hard to handle. I thought we were past all this fighting.

Soda, I think, has changed the most. It breaks my heart, real bad too. Soda rarely ever jokes anymore, _ever._ He doesn't dance around in his towel anymore, doesn't randomly start singing songs around the house, doesn't tickle me awake anymore, doesn't tease Darry, he doesn't even colour his food those whacky colours anymore when he made it. And just a few days ago, he told me to move back into my old room. I did as he asked but it really took a lot for me not to start bawling right there. I held it in until I crawled into the cold, unslept in bed I used to call mine that night, and wept silently in my pillow. Soda drinks more, and he smokes more. It bugs me. Sodapop hardly ever smokes, only when somethings really bugging him. And he only drinks on those special occasions, and he never gets drunk when that happens either, he knows Darry doesn't like him at it. But now he smokes almost a pack a day, and drinks until he passes out at least once every 3 days. Darry's tried talking to him, and there were arguments about his behaviour, but Soda didn't listen, I know he didn't. He just threw back _"What Darry? You want to start yellin' at me like you and Pony do to each other now? No thanks, there's enough of that in this house,"_ and he would stomp into his room, or out the front door. It's real hard to watch. Soda's had to deal with a lot, I know that. Johnny died, Sandy, the girl he planned to marry, cheated on him and left for Florida, and me and Darry broke an important promise to him. He's dealing with it all, I know, but I wish there was something I could do to help. I've tried to talk to him, to apologize, but he never listens. I miss the old Sodapop. I miss my brother.

Lately I feel like there's nobody to talk to. Johnny's gone, Sodapop probably hates me, Darry is always angry with me, and the rest of the gang got their own problems. They shouldn't deal with mine on top of that. So I started writing in a journal. Found an empty, tattered one in the lot just waiting to be filled, so I took it home. Since I don't sleep with Sodapop anymore, I don't have to worry about him finding it, so I just keep it under my bed, and write an entry in it daily. At least there's something that will listen to my problems, even if it can't speak back or it can't exactly listen.

I'm not doing too well at is it. I'm pretty sure both my brothers hate me, and the gang isn't even a _gang_ anymore. My best buddy Johnny is dead, and I miss him like crazy. My grades are so bad I'm not even sure I'm fit to be in the grade I skipped to get to anymore. I'm not holding things together as well as I had hoped.

XXXX

I was walking home from school since Two-bit and Steve skipped for the day, so I didn't have a ride home. The chilly October air made me shiver, despite my sweater I had remembered to wear this morning. I wrapped my arms around myself tighter, and continued to walk down my street, dreading what was waiting for me at home. I got another F today, this ones from English. We had to write this stupid essay about something fun you've done in your life, and how it compares to others. I kept putting it off all the time, I wasn't in the mood to write anything in my journal, let alone an essay. So, I just scribbled some stuff down about my birthday in last July, most of it not even true, right before class started. I wasn't surprised about my mark, but that doesn't mean I wasn't scared to tell Darry. Shoot, the principle probably already called him before I left. He called a mighty lot since I started failing everything, wondering if Darry knew what was wrong with me. _I wonder._ I thought sarcastically. _My best friend and pretty much the only guy I could talk to right now is dead, and my friends and brothers are gone too._

I sighed, and a wave of grief and sadness swept over me, making my knees buckle. I walked off to the side of the rode where the lot was, and sat down, knowing if I didn't I would probably fall over.

 _Golly, do I miss you Johnny. I miss you real lot._ I spoke in my head, but found myself saying it out loud as a tear found it's way down my face.

I didn't stay there for long, Darry had enough to be angry about, I didn't want to add being late to the list either.

I wiped my eyes, took a deep breath, and started on my way back home.

XXXX

TWO-BIT'S POV:

I skipped school to get my mind off things. School was at the bottom of my list of interests at the moment, unlike it used to be. I used to go for kicks, prank the teachers, hang out with Steve, Ponyboy, and ...Johnny. But now, even that don't make me happy. Steve goes so little he practically dropped out, Ponyboy is all mopey and don't talk to anyone no more, and Johnny, well, he won't be going back to school anytime soon.

For the day I basically drove around town, stopped to have a few beers, a few cancer sticks, and then went off again. Went to Buck's to see Dal earlier too, but he sighed and told me to hang out at the Curtis's instead. _Like hell._ I probably wouldn't be going over there anytime soon to hang out. Sure, I talked to the brothers every now and again when I spotted them, but after the incident with Darry, I doubt he wants me back anytime soon either.

 _I had caught Ponyboy crying and sobbing in the bathroom in school, and like a buddy would do, I went over to see what was bothering him. He wouldn't speak much, but I had a feeling it didn't just have to do with Johnny's death. I knew that hit him as hard as it hit poor old Dallas._

 _I had finally got it out of him that he thought Darry and Sodapop hated him. It was kind of a shocker. I mean, I've heard him say things about Darry, but never Sodapop. No, Soda loved the guy more than he loved anyone; he would do anything for his kid brother. Anything._

 _But then he told me what was going on between the three. Soda's recent liking of Kools and Beer, Darry's screams and fist-slamming on the table, him not being able to talk to them, and Soda kicking him out to his old room._

 _That was an even bigger shocker. I knew Soda and Pone had slept in the same room, because of Ponyboy's nightmares or something, but then I figured out they just kept it up because of how close they were. Both of them probably couldn't sleep without the other one there with them, so Pone stayed in Soda's room, with probably no intention of returning to his own. But Soda kicked him out? No way. And the drinking and smoking? And Darry? What was happening to the gang?_

 _I had helped Pony up and brought him home, knowing he probably didn't want to stay in school any longer. Besides, I needed to have a chat with the two oldest Curtis brothers._

 _I brought Pone home and he immediately made a bee line for his room, not the one he used to share with Sodapop. He ignored all the angry yells from Darry who was surprised to see his brother home from school so early. Sodapop was working, but I was fine with just talking with Darry. I'd talk to Soda later._

 _Let's just say the whole conversation got out of hand. Real out of hand. I said somethings about Windrixville happening all over again, and how he's being a bad brother, and he's failing his brothers. Yeah I know, bad call, but I wasn't exactly in a good mood, so I said some things I didn't mean. Oh yeah, and I might of told him his parents wouldn't approve of the way Sodapop and him was treating Pony. Such a horrible thing to say, trust me, if I hadn't been so angry and upset, I would never have said such a thing. But I did, and the next thing I know Darry's fist is meeting my face in a hard blow, hard enough to make me fall. I was pretty scared then, I could already feel my eye swelling from Darry's swing, and I wasn't hoping for round two. I got up, and looked him in the eye, about to apologize in a way that he would still understand what he was doing to Pony wasn't good, but before I could open my mouth, he opened his, and told me to get out._

 _So I did, and I haven't been back there since._

So, point stated, the Curtis's house wasn't an option. Even if I still felt bad for Ponyboy, and was worried about Sodapop, I wasn't looking forward to another black eye, and some not-so-kind words from Darrel.

I headed out of Bucks, kind of disappointed that old Dally didn't want me around, and decided to head home, check up on mom and little sis.

I was on my way back to my place when I seen a shaking figure sitting in the lot. I didn't have my radio on, so the quiet sobs coming from the figure was easily heard. I stopped, and jumped out of my old car, and began to walk up behind the figure, which I now realized was a boy. _What's wrong with this kid?_

I was almost ready to touch the kid and see what was making him so upset, when I noticed the reddish-brown hair and the familiar ragged, navy backpack.

 _Ponyboy._

I sighed, remembering the last time I seen him cry like this in the guys bathroom in school. I figured it was something about Darry and Sodapop again, knowing how much they effected him. I felt real bad for him.

He was saying something, and I was almost sure he was talking to me, but I heard Johnny's name. _"Golly do I miss you Johnny. I miss you a real lot."_

My heart shattered. I wanted to go and hug him so badly, let him know it's okay. But I knew it wasn't. I missed Johnny so much it hurt, it was taking all of me not to just sit down and start bawling too. But as much as I wanted to help the kid, Darry's stern face and his hard face kept coming through my head.

So as much as it killed me to, I walked back to my car, and headed home.

"Take care of him Johnnycake. Take good care of him, he needs it. Real bad."

XXXX

First Chapter, huh? Thanks so much for reading, review if you can, it means more than you think.

-Caitlyn :)


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you to those who have read and reviewed, you bring a smile to my face on even my worst days. This chapter is longer, so get comfy. Here it is, chapter 2.

 **TAKE CARE OF HIM JOHHNY CAKE - CHAPTER 2**

PONYBOY'S POV:

Unfortunately, despite my attempts at making it home quick enough to please Darry, I was out longer than I had hoped, and Darry wasn't pleased. So much for the "getting off easy" with the big red F on my English essay. The minute I stepped through the door, there he was, read in the face, and angry to say the least. I don't know what he was so worked up for, I couldn't have been gone _that_ long, and it wasn't like this was my first F.

 _Oh, who am I kidding,_ _Darry's always angry._

"Ponyboy, where the hell have you been?" Darry's voice is loud, but I know it can get mighty louder. The same words have swung to my ears before, and it didn't end in something I like remembering. I shiver, remembering the force of Darry's slap against my face, and the actual _fear_ that he would do it again cascaded through my veins.

"I, uh, stayed back for some extra credit, Dar." What was I supposed to say? _Hey Darry, I broke down in the lot because you and Soda hate me and I have no friends, please forgive me?_ Shoot, he'd probably get mad at me for showing my emotions out in public, or sitting down and getting my clothes dirty if I told him that.

"Oh? Really? Because it looks like you're gonna need a real good lot of it, coming home with the grades you've been getting!" His voice is louder, as if he knew I was lying. _Crap._ Look's like he really does know about my essay.

"What? You didn't think I would find out Ponyboy? That here you are again, bringin' home another badly done assignment? You think you're gonna get in college with this? Huh Pony?" Darry throws his hands up in the air to express his anger. Golly, I wish he would put his hands down...if one were to struck me, I don't know what I would do.

"I don't know Darry! Maybe if you would stop houndin' at me I would be able to concentrate and get good grades!" I raised my voice too. I can't stand Darry getting mad at me all the time. I can't stand it. I've got to stand up for myself. Even if that means making Darry angrier.

"I wouldn't have to hound at you if you ever used your head!" He pointed at his own head to stress his point. "It's time to grow up Ponyboy, you're not gonna get nowhere actin' the way you're actin'," His voice was as loud as it can go, and it scared me a bit. "Failing school, comin' home late, mopin' around...what the hell's wrong with you?"

"What's _wrong_ with me?! Oh I don't know Darry, how about you go ask Johnny what's wrong with me, I'm sure he'll have a good answer." I sighed sarcastically and pointed at the door angrily as if he would actually go and ask Johnny.

"Johnny? Pony you of _all_ people should know just because you lose someone, doesn't mean you just stop livin'!" His angry eyes shot daggers at me. Darry just doesn't understand.

"Yeah, but it doesn't mean you just forget about him either! I can't just forget Johnny, Darry! My best buddy died, and your here tellin' me to be fine? I think _you're_ the one who don't use you head! Like it or not Darry, but I ain't just gonna be fine, it's gonna take a real long time to be _fine_!" I yelled, raising my voice as loud as it was going to go.

"You watch your tone with _me,_ buddy." He said with a vicious scowl, and went and grabbed his coat and shoes. "Your grounded Ponyboy, and that's that. No TV, no walks, nothin' until you get your act up. For the time being you'll stay in your room and you better study, for your _own_ sake." He pointed at me angrily and opened the door.

I sighed and rolled my eyes. "Where're you going then, huh?" I yelled.

"Your school. We're gonna do somethin' with you Ponyboy." He said viciously, and slammed the door. He was probably scheduling some daily detentions or something. Glory, I'm gonna blow up I'm so mad.

 _Why can't anyone understand me?_

XXXX

I did as I was told, and went into my room and studied everything in my backpack. Not that it would do anything though, like usual, I just couldn't concentrate. I didn't expect this _"grounded and study in your room"_ thing to help my grades not one bit. My grades were down the drain and that's that.

I gave up after an hour or so, and took out my tattered journal, planning on writing out my anger about what happened with Darry. I started with the usual _Dear Journal,_ and continued on from there. I wrote about my day, about the incident in the lot, about my failed English essay, about Darry's hollering, and of course the house arrest sentence Darry had gave me. By the time I finished venting out everything, I had written 2 pages, and my wrist was uncomfortably stiff and aching from all the writing I had done in the past hour and a half. Luckily, it was a Friday, so I wasn't planning on finishing all the homework I had just yet for the weekend. Shoot, when Monday rolled around I probably wouldn't even finish it then. To be honest, I didn't care real much about school like I used to. Things are different now, and all I care about is making it through a day without bawling in my pillow or having a fight with Darry.

I put my journal back in it's place under my bed, and went into the kitchen to get a glass of chocolate milk. Me and Soda's favourite. The thought of Soda made my heart crumble a little, and my attempts at pushing thoughts of him failed as quickly downed the glass of the chocolaty refreshment. Sodapop's seventeenth birthday was about a week ago, and it wasn't exactly a special celebration that occurred.

 _Me and Darry were fighting, as usual, while Sodapop was working. We were fighting about what to get our brother for the occasion, and what to do for him. I said we should have a party here with the gang. Nothing too big, not too small, the way I was sure Soda would like. We would play some of his favourite tunes on the radio, have a few games of cards, and of course, make a cake with extra, extra sugar._

 _Darry, on the other hand, agreed on the cake part, but was not having none of the party. He complained about the mess and clean up, about the cost it would take for the loads of beer he was sure everyone would drink, (not me of course. Darry would skin me if I as close as held a bit of alcohol), he complained that the gang probably wouldn't come over, and for some unknown reason, he started saying stuff about Two-bit. That he drank too much and it wasn't good around me, that he would eat all the cake and make Sodapop angry. I couldn't believe what he was saying. I wanted to make Soda's birthday special. Real special. And he was worried about the cost and the mess? Boy, did it make me angry. We both started yelling and screaming, throwing comments at one another, until we both looked to the doorway of the living room we were in, and there stood, a sad, disappointed looking Sodapop. My heart instantly shattered and tore, and I was real guilty. He went and sat down at the couch and turned on the TV, but I knew he wasn't watching it. He stared into space at the gray-screened screen, not even attempting at looking me and Darry in the eye._

 _I apologized, over and over again, but Sodapop just nodded his head glumly, and pushed me away. I could tell Darry was guilty too. He kept giving Soda apologetic glances and smiles, but Soda ignored him._

 _I baked the extra sweet, chocolate cake for my brother, in hopes he would somehow forgive us, but when I looked back in the living room when I was done, Darry was off to work and Soda sat on the couch, several beer bottles surrounding him, passed out in a drunken sleep. I'll never get used to seeing Sodapop drinking like that. It hurts me a mighty lot, especially knowing that I was the one who made him do it._

 _The next day we all acted as if nothing happened. Darry and Soda went to work, I went to school, did bad on some assignments, and I walked home, guilt still wrecking my body._

 _It was my turn to make supper that day, so I opened up a package of macaroni, a can of tomato sauce, and made some spaghetti. But when I went to put the empty can and ripped package into the garbage can, my heart filled with guilt and sorrow once again as I seen what was lying there, untouched, and in the garbage._

 _Sodapop's extra sweet, chocolate cake._

I got goosebumps and my eyes started to tear when I think of that day, and I'll regret it for the rest of my life. Not even on our brother's birthday, could me and Darry stop fighting.

I wondered if we'd ever get Soda back. The old Soda, the _real_ Soda. Golly, I hope so, I don't know how long I can handle life without my second big brother. It's bad enough losing my bestfriend. I can't lose the person I love more than anyone in this world. I can't lose Sodapop.

But I'm scared, because maybe I already have.

And if right on cue, Sodapop walked through the front door, looking more sad and glum than I've ever seen him.

"Hey Soda," I said softly.

He didn't answer back. Didn't even look at me, just threw his DX cap onto the couch and leaned over on the window, looking out into the semi-dark evening, still bearing them awful sad eyes.

"Sodapop? What's wrong?" I walked up next to him, and watched as he let out a deep breath he'd been holding in.

"Nothin's wrong Pony." He replied bluntly. I knew he was lying, Soda's not a good liar, and I could tell something was bothering him.

"Common Soda, you can tell me," I tried to sound real innocent and caring, so I could persuade him to talk to me like he used to; like the _old_ Sodapop would talk to me.

"I told you nothing was wrong." Soda's voice goes from heartbroken to cold in a matter of seconds, and I have to admit, I'm a bit taken aback by the sudden change of emotion.

"Soda...I know there is."

I put my hand on my brother's shoulder to comfort him. Suddenly he dug his hands inside his inner jacket pocket, and pulled out a semi-crumpled, folded, white sheet of paper. He looks at it for a moment, takes a deep breath, squeezes his eyes shut, and hands the mysterious paper too me. "If you're so desperate to know what's buggin' me, here, see for yourself."

I slightly tilted my head, curious to what the paper really was. How could a paper make Soda so upset? What could it-... then it hit me. The news, the radio stations, they all talked about guys getting letters, a _paper_ that required them to-...no. No, no, no. Soda wasn't going to some war! There must be a mistake. Sodapop did not get drafted...no!

My heart thumped viciously in my chest, I was sure even Sodapop could hear it. I was afraid to see what was on the folded paper, I was sure it was a draft letter. It _had_ to be a draft letter. I slowly pulled back the folds and crumples, and braced myself for the terrible news. _It's a draft letter, it's a draft letter, Sodapop's being sent to war, he's being taken away..._ the voice inside my head tortured me as I read the first words on the paper.

 _"Happy birthday, Sodapop."_ My nervous heart stopped, my breathing slowed, and I squinted and reread the three words over and over again to make sure I read them right. _Happy birthday, Sodapop?_ It's a birthday letter, clearly. Why would a birthday letter make Soda so upset? I was about to hand back the paper to Soda and ask him why the letter made him so upset, but then my eyes drifted to the bottom of the paper.

" _Love, Sandy."_ I sighed. Oh, Soda. I felt real bad for him; Sandy's betrayal and leaving left Sodapop heartbroken, and now the wounds have been cut open again.

I clenched my eyes shut, refolded the letter, and laid it on the coffee table, returning back to my sad brother.

"A week late, and that's all she said," Soda said quietly, his voice breaking. "No, _how're ya doin',_ no _I miss you,_ just a week late birthday wish."

My heart broke for Soda. I've never been in love, but from how I used to see Soda act around Sandy, and how much he used to talk about her, I could tell he loved her a real lot. I couldn't imagine how he felt when he realised that she didn't love him back. Golly, I was angry at Sandy. I _hated_ her for what she did to Soda, I really did. Soda was always real nice to her too, but she had to go and break his heart. I hated her, a _lot._

"She don't deserve you, Sodapop." I said, trying to hide my anger, but some of it slipped, startling Soda.

"What?"

"She _don't._ You could've given her everything, I _know_ you would of Soda," I looked sadly at my brother, who seemed taken aback at my comment. He never said nothing, so I continued on. "She's just like the rest of em', don't care about nothin', would go and hook up with every guy that walked." I shook my head in anger.

Soda's eyes went cold, and angry, any inch of sadness gone from his features entirely. He went up to my face so quick I almost fell, and he pointed his finger right at me. "Don't you say that about Sandy. Don't you dare." He hissed, his voice ten times louder than it was a minute ago.

"No, Soda, She hurt you, real bad. Let her go, she don't deserve nothin' from you." I replied, putting my voice as loud as his was.

"Don't you go sayin' stuff about Sandy. You may think you can hate on your friends and family, but I will _not_ here you say that trash about Sandy."

Now _I_ was the one taken aback. Talking trash? Hating? Of course I don't hate any of the gang, not even Darry for that matter. "I don't hate no one Soda." I told him, putting my voice back to normal. Why was he angry with me?

"No? Sure as hell seems like it Ponyboy!" He yells. I was scared, I've never seen Soda yell like that, especially to me.

"Soda? What're you talkin' about?"

"What? You think Darry never came and told me about what's been happenin' in school?" He was screaming at me, and I wished he'd stop. "You gotta try real hard just to pick a fight with everyone don't you?"

I don't answer, I just stare at him, unable to say anything? Why was Soda saying this to me? I don't pick a fight with everyone, do I?

He continues on. "You gotta ruin everything, don't you?!" I can feel tears start making their way to my eyes.

"W-what?" I stutter. I didn't ruin anything, did I? _Please Soda, stop hollering at me, please._

"You know what I mean, Pony. Johnny? That's on _you."_ My heart stops, then instantly shatters again. What? Why would Soda say that to me...he knows what happened, I didn't cause Johnny's death...did I?

A tear runs down my face, and it takes it all from me to not break down bawling right there. What was going on with Soda? _Please, stop Soda, you're hurting me._

"Always picking fights with Darry! _Always!_ He does _everything_ for you Ponyboy, and you know it! You always got to have your way, _always!"_ I let out a sob, but he continued. "You had to run away that night, didn't you? Had to go find Johnny and kill that soc kid, had to run off, even if you _knew_ how you would kill me and Darry for it!"

"Soda..." I wept. I couldn't hold in my tears any longer, and they were coming, one by one, cascading down my face.

He ignored my pleading. "Then Johnny...Johnny _died,_ all because you had to run away." He said venomously. "Now look what's happened to the gang. We're all broken apart. And there's always something to blame." He pointed directly at me, anger pretty much oozing from his ears. I let out another sob, and covered my mouth, afraid that it would make my brother angrier.

"Y- you don't mean that. You don't mean that Soda. You wouldn't say that."

"It's the _truth._ You don't care how it effects the rest of us. How it effects _me._ " I looked, and even though there were anger in his eyes, there were also tears, running down Soda's face like they had been mine. "You just can't stop, can you? You and Darry, always fighting, always screamin' at eachother, despite what the both of you promised." His voice cracked.

I couldn't say anything. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe.

"You don't care about nothin'." His anger returned, and his eyes shot daggers at me. "No wonder Sandy left. You're here screamin' and shoutin' all the time, ruinin' everything, she didn't want a brother in law who would talk trash about her."

"Soda, no, I never said anything about S-Sandy!" I cried.

"What was that earlier then Pone?! _Would go and hook up with every guy that walked?"_ He mocked me. "No wonder she left. She got a ticket out of here, away from you, away from _me._ Leavin's probably the best thing she could've done." He yelled at me, but I could hear the sadness underneath. A tear dripped from his eye, and then I smelled something on him.

 _Booze._ How did I not notice it? Soda was drinking...while working? I was heartbroken, no doubt, but no, Soda didn't mean none of that, he was just drunk. He didn't blame me for Sandy, that's just the alcohol talking.

"Soda, no. You don't mean none of what you're saying, please Soda, just sit down. _Please._ " I couldn't stop the tears, what he said was said, and it stabbed and ripped at my heart viciously.

I held out my hand to lead him to the couch, but then my world stopped. Everything that was keeping myself together broke, and my heart tore into a million pieces.

In the blink of an eye, Soda grabbed my offered hand, twisted it at a painful angle, causing me to cry out in pain. He brought up his fist, and slammed it violently into the side of my tear-streamed face. The blow was agony. I could feel my jaw crack in under the pressure, and the force took me right off my feet, slamming me into the wall behind me, into the large mirror that hung there. _Mom's_ mirror. The mirror shattered, identical to my heart that felt like it stopped beating inside my chest.

Everything was in slow motion. I don't know if the hit to the head caused that, or my emotions taking over. I sat there, leaning on the wall that shattered glass ran down, and I felt my world end.

Sodapop _hit_ me. He screamed at me and blamed me for Sandy's departure, Johnny's death, and our distant gang. Then he _hit_ me. First Darry, now, ... _Soda._ Sodapop didn't love me, he hated me. The person I love with my whole life hurt me, and I didn't think I could heal.

The world went back to normal speed, and I don't know what happened. My body went into auto-pilot mode, I couldn't control it. My shaky legs carried me out of the living room at top speed, despite everything spinning.

I ran, and ran, and ran, until I didn't even know where I was. I ran until I was out of breath, and I sat down on a rock on the side of the road. I grabbed my wrist that was already swollen hugely, and rubbed it harshly, as if maybe I could get it to stop hurting if I did. It hurt real bad, just like the side of my face, which throbbed horribly.

I couldn't breath, couldn't think, couldn't get up, my breath was coming out raggedly, and my heart thump, thump, thumped in my chest heavily. I ran my good hand down my face, and tried to slow my breathing. It didn't work, and I wanted to scream. I wanted to scream so loud my throat would go raw, but I couldn't. The past month, I've kept everything in, held it all back. The only thing I talked to was my journal, and shoot, now I didn't even have that. I needed to scream _so_ bad, but I couldn't.

So then came the tears.

XXXX

This chapter was intense, huh? Hope you enjoyed it. Please, _please_ review, it practically drives me to make more chapters, so the reviews are what keeps me going. Thank you a gazillion times for reading.

-Caitlyn ;)


	3. Chapter 3

Welcome back, here's chapter 3. This chapter is even longer, so get even comfier! I own nothing besides my made up character, Mr. Davis, and Pony's future tutor, Nancy Williams. All else belong to S.E Hinton. Enjoy! ;)

 **TAKE CARE OF HIM JOHNNY CAKE - CHAPTER 3**

DARRY'S POV:

Ponyboy was hanging by a thread. That much was obvious. His grades are lower than they have _ever_ been, he stays out late without calling, doesn't talk much, and I've gotten calls from his school complaining that Ponyboy has fallen asleep in class.

Johnny's death effected us all, real badly too, but I know Ponyboy got the worst of it. Even more than Dallas, who's been a delinquent wreck the past month.

I don't know how to help Pony, I truly don't, and it hurts me like something fierce. I've tried being nice, but Ponyboy stays the same, I've tried giving him space, but Pony thinks I'm ignoring him, I've tried to be more like Soda, cheery, bright, and funny, but lets face it, only Sodapop can be Sodapop.

So now I'm trying a different tactic. The adult one. The _tough love_ one. I've tried countless times to get Pony to talk to me, but all have failed, so the mean, over-protective guardian is my last resort.

It's hard to do sometimes. Like sometimes I'll yell and make Pony cry a little. A tear or two would drop down his face and he would just nod to what i was saying. It's times like that that I would just give anything to run up to him and wipe the tears away, and give him the biggest hug of his life. But I'm not trying to be nice, I'm trying to get Ponyboy back on track. He probably doesn't care about the school and everything now, but if he just gives up, he'll never forgive himself. I know Ponyboy, and Ponyboy wants to go to college. He may not care about any inch of college right now, but when he get's older, he'll regret it a real lot. If I just let Pone off the hook, he would go and fail every class, might be put back a grade, might take years to graduate like Two-bit. If Pony did that, and a few years later he would want to get a career and go to college, he'll look back on this year and regret not trying. I know he will.

I want Ponyboy to be happy in the future, and if sucking it up and being tough will give him that, I'll give him that. The thing is, the more tough I am, the more he avoids me and argues. I know I'm the one who usually starts the hollering, but I got to keep telling myself that I'm doing it for a good reason.

Sodapop hates when we fight, and I know it's been bugging him more now since me and Pony promised to stop a month ago. I hate myself for making him sad and everything, but he's got to know I'm doing it for them. Johnny's death hit us _all_ hard, not just Ponyboy, and I've got to try to keep us together, keep us going. I hope he understands that I'm not yelling and screaming all the time just for kicks, I'm doing it for my family, and I'd do it a second time if it came down to it.

But like I said, Ponyboy was hanging by a thread, and I'm beginning to doubt if I'm helping at all. I really don't know what else to do. I mean, golly, I can't just let him flunk school and turn into a hood, Ponyboy isn't like that. He just needs to move on.

I have to admit, the argument me and Ponyboy had before we left did make me mad. Pony's beginning to yell back all the time now, and I'm not taking it too fondly. He hardly ever gets an F on his school work, even after Johnny's death, he would frequently bring home D's and C-'s. But hardly ever F's, and I wasn't happy. I needed to try harder, give him punishments, teach him that he needs to pick himself up, for his own sake. When he started yelling back at me, I could feel my anger levels rising, and I just had to get out before something I'd regret was said. I would never hit him again, _ever,_ I know how horrible it was when I had, but there are things that can hurt a real lot more than a slap to the face, and that's words. I'm not too good at controlling my anger, and I know it, so I just had to get out.

When Two-bit came that day and told me about Ponyboy crying in school and thinking me and Sodapop don't love him, I was ready to stop the tough act right there and then. But then Two-bit mentioned my parents, and how I was being horrible, and that there was a time I couldn't control my anger. I can't say I feel too bad for hitting him, he really went out of line talking about my parents like that, but I did feel bad for kicking him out. I knew Sodapop and Ponyboy like him hanging around, and now, he never comes by, and I know that's my fault. It's my fault that Ponyboy was upset too I know, but I know it's for the best, he'll thank me later. Oh boy, do I hope I'm doing the right thing.

I drove by the DX to tell Sodapop that I was going to be gone when he got home, and probably won't be home until later, and of course, he had to ask me why. I was still slightly angry that Ponyboy had talked back to me, so I kind of let it slip that Ponyboy was fighting with me again, even though it drives Soda crazy. I told him he failed another test, and I was only trying to help, when he snapped at me. I know that's not the whole truth, but my angered mind made my words come out differently, and I pretty much put the blame on Pony. I told Sodapop I was going down to the school to talk to the teachers, and that Ponyboy was grounded until further notice.

If I had told you Sodapop frowned, it would of been a massive understatement. He didn't look the happiest when I got there in the first place, but lately, Soda hardly looks as happy-go-jumpy like he did before Johnny died, so I never picked much notice to it. Probably just a tough day at work. If I was just there as a visit, I might've asked what was wrong, but I was full of pent-up anger, and I had to tell someone. Sodapop was the only person around, so I told him, even if I over exaggerated a little...or maybe a lot.

I headed over to the high school after I finished venting out to Soda, and to make it worse, turns out the teachers had a meeting going on when I got there, I had to sit and wait until it was over. _Just great._

The meeting lasted about 45 minutes, and when I finally got to speak to Mr. Davis, the principle, I was ready to burst of boredom and lack of patience.

"What brings you here today, Darrel?" He said as I took a seat across from him at his desk. Mr. Davis has been here for a real long time; he was the principle when I started high school. He was rather small for his mid-sixties age, but shoot, almost everybody looks small to me. He was a little taller than Soda, and he wore big, silver-rimmed glasses that looked extra large on his bald head.

"Well, I wanted to ask if there was anything you could do for Ponyboy, my brother. You see Mr. Davis, Pony's been failing a lot of his classes, and I'm afraid that he'll fail ninth grade. Re-doin' his freshman year is the last thing any of us would want."

"Ah, yes, I am aware that Ponyboy has been doing...rather... _inadequate_ lately, but I am also aware what has happened the past month as well. It's understandable that Ponyboy is having difficulty concentrating and keeping up the straight A's like he used to, but I'm sure there is something we can do to help him get back on track." He adds a small reassuring smile, which eases my tenseness a little.

"Thank you, Mr. Davis. It hasn't exactly been easy after everything, but hopefully when he gets his grades up, he'll start movin' on with his life; looking forward."

He nods, and looks through some papers that are stacked in a neat pile on top of his desk. "Lets see, well I can recommend a tutor? She's in the same grade as Ponyboy, and in everyone of his classes. Her name is Nancy Williams, and she is a rather intelligent student. She's a quiet young girl, but her grades are mostly to always straight A's. I'm sure she wouldn't mind real much if I asked her to help Ponyboy out."

A tutor? It seemed pretty convincing, maybe Ponyboy could even be friends with this _"_ Nancy." He's been to himself lately, and it sure would be nice to see him make some new friends.

"That would be great. I'm sure they'll get along just fine."

Me and Mr. Davis spent the next 10 minutes planning Pony and Nancy's tutoring sessions, and talked about what she would tutor him, and eventually for the next 20 minutes we just sat and talked. He was one of my favourite teachers there when I went to school, and he was nice to talk to. He told me about the new football team, and all the troubles he has to deal with from all the "bad" students. He didn't even mention that probably most of those students were greasers, and I appreciated it. Most people now days blame everything on the north-side students, the poor, troublemaking hoods, but to Mr. Davis, everyone is just people, he doesn't categorize anyone at all. I lost track of how long I had been sitting there, but I knew it was at least an hour or two.

We were just talking about his retirement date, when the door to his office burst open with a loud bang, revealing an angry, distraught looking Dally.

"Hello, Dallas, what can I help you with?" Mr. Davis asks, with a hint of annoyance present, but he covered it well. I'm surprised he even knew Dally's name; Dal hardly _ever_ comes to school, but then again, Mr. Davis knows _everybody._

"You can't help me with nothin'. I need you come with me, Darry." He snaps angrily. What's gotten him so worked up?

Mr. Davis doesn't react much to Dally's rudeness, he probably knows it's a normal thing for Dallas.

"Can it wait Dal? We're kind of in the middle of somethin'."

Dally glares at me. "Let me say that again. I need you to come with me now Darry, it's urgent."

I nod slightly, and say a quick goodbye to Mr. Davis before following Dally out the door. When Dallas Winston says somethings urgent, you best believe it, because Dally would _never_ care so much about something enough to say it's "urgent."

We walk down the school's long hallway, before I stop the greaser and demand answers.

"Okay, spit it out, what the hell is goin' on?"

"Your brothers got into a fight. I swear, you damn Curtis's are goin' to tear each other apart someday," he growls.

A fight? Sodapop and Ponyboy never fight. Well, lately, they haven't been on the best of terms and they haven't been as close as they were before Johnny died, but still, they _never_ fight. I have to admit, I was rather surprised when Sodapop told Pony to move back into his old room; I always thought they both needed each other to sleep. In the beginning, Pony couldn't sleep because of his nightmares, so he started sleeping with his big brother, and it helped a real lot. After a while, even when Pony's nightmares stopped happening, they still slept together. Sodapop couldn't sleep without Ponyboy, and Ponyboy couldn't sleep without Sodapop. Soda was a real mess when Pony ran away to Windrixville, and I'm guessing Pony was too. But a fight? No, as much as I hate to admit it, that's me and Ponyboy's thing.

"A fight? What was it about?" I asked.

"Hell if I know, Sodapop said he told Ponyboy some real cruel stuff to the kid before he took off."

The blood rushed from my face. Pony? Ran away? God, no, not again. _Not again._

"What? Ponyboy ran away? Dally, what the hell did Soda say to him to make him run away?" I said, with some unintentional anger in my voice.

"Oh, it's not what he said to the kid, it's what he did. Your idiot of a brother hit him. Struck him clean across the face. Broke a mirror and everything. I swear, I'm gonna kill Sodapop." He spat.

God dammit...Sodapop hit him? Sodapop would _never_ hit Ponyboy. Shoot, I thought _I_ would never hit Ponyboy, but Soda? Christ, what happened to us? I can't imagine what Ponyboy is feeling...two of his brothers, his last remaining family, hit him in just a little over a month. Even when I hit him, he had Johnny to go for comfort, now he has nobody. _Please Pony, don't do anything stupid._

I caught my breath. "...How long has it been since he took off?"

"20 minutes, half an hour, I don't know. Sodapop called all of us, Two-bit, Steve and your brother are all at your place, freakin' out, told me to come get you. Sodapop didn't want to wait too long, knowing what the kid did last time."

I hated that he even needed to say "last time," I hated that Pony had to be hit by both of his brothers, enough to say "last time." I was surprised at Dally's sudden protection and concern for Ponyboy, but all I could think of was my little brother, walking the roads, upset, and _alone._

"Yeah, let's just go."

"With you there, you go ahead, I'll follow. Two-bit let me use his car."

I nodded and jumped in my pickup, turned on the ignition, and sped down out of the parking lot, on route for my house, not even checking if Dally was behind me like he said. All that was on my mind was Ponyboy.

 _Oh boy, take care of him. take care of him Johnny Cake._

XXXX

SODAPOP'S POV:

I regretted the whole thing the minute my mouth opened. The second the first word left my mouth, I knew, I wouldn't be able to control myself. I was so angry, so _upset_ , I was a walking-ticking time bomb.

Ever since Johnny died, I don't know, I just, feel like a...failure. I mean, come on, I work at a gas station, and I probably will for the rest of my life. I'm a dropout. I'm dumb as nails, and I know that, it's just, I wish I could be like Ponyboy, or Darry, always bringing home good grades, making everyone proud. I've always felt like I'm never good enough, even when mom and dad were still alive. I dropped out a while before they died, and I know they were disappointed. Mom looked like she was going to cry, but she covered it well, even if I could see it. Dad was a little angry, but he gave me a hug and told me it's okay. I know they wanted me to graduate, get a good job to make a living, start a good life. I knew they cared about my happiness more, but the disappointment radiating off of them, and even Ponyboy was so thick you could practically touch it, and to be honest, I was a little disappointed too.

When my parents died, I felt even worse, like I wasn't able to make them proud before they left the world, like they left a failure for a son. I don't know when I cried more, when I found out my mom and dad died, or when Pony and Sandy left.

 _Sandy._ I found out she was pregnant a few days before the events a month ago. I told her I'd marry her, that we'd take care of the baby, even if I could barely make enough money to last me and my brothers, but I told her, because I loved her. I was in love with her. I didn't tell Darry or Ponyboy about the pregnancy, even though I planned to. I told Ponyboy about the plan to marry her, but never mentioned the part about me being a father. At least, that's what I _thought._ But then she told me the baby wasn't mine, that it was another guy that she had sex with, that she cheated on me. To say I was heartbroken was an understatement. It was the day after Pony ran away to Windrixville, and I was already falling apart. But what really sealed the deal, was when she told me she was leaving for Florida with her grandparents. Even after she told me the baby wasn't mine, as much as I could deny it, I was still in love with her. I don't know how it would of worked, but I still loved her. She leaving just really tore me apart.

Then Johnny died, and the feeling heightened. Johnny Cade, everybody's kid brother, had died, and I know a part of everyone in the gang died with him. I couldn't go and save him, couldn't find him and Ponyboy, I just felt so hopeless, such a _failure._

Of course then Ponyboy and Darry started fighting again, and it was worse this part around. What was once just angry glares turned into loud yells and screams, and they occurred everyday, even after both of them _promised_ to stop. I realise, they never would've completely stopped, but I didn't expect it to get worse.

I kept feeling more of a failure everyday, and as much as I regretted it, I started ignoring Ponyboy. Started drifting away from him. I felt like he would be better off without me. Except I didn't even notice the more I ignored my little brother, the more distant he got with everyone, and the more he too, felt like a failure. His grades were dropping more and more, and now that I look back on it, I know that I could've helped him. Even if he and Darry were fighting enough to drive anyone crazy, I should've been there for him. He lost his bestfriend, and nearly lost his around the time too. He needed me, but I wasn't there. I've never felt more guilty in my life.

I couldn't stop yelling, couldn't stop _screaming_ at him. The emotions were pouring out of me, and I took it all out on him. Sandy's letter drove me mad, and when Darry came and told me about another fight they had, I snapped, and the rest of the day at the DX went by in a blur. I can't even remember drinking, but then I tasted the beer on my tongue.

The things I said to him...I'll never be able to take them back. They were the most horrible things I ever imagined saying to Ponyboy, my baby brother. They were also the most untrue things I've ever said. Blaming Johnny's death on him...that was just...god, _what have I done?_ He started crying there in front of me, pleading for me to stop, to just shut up, but I couldn't, my anger and helplessness started flooding out, and I couldn't stop it. I was screaming, he was crying, and the next thing I know, Pony's on the floor bawling his eyes, clutching his pre-bruised face, and cradling his wrist, right before he dashes out of the house. Mom's old mirror behind him was shattered, the frame on the floor, along with a million shards of glass. It took me a minute to realize what I had done, but when I did, I started bawling too.

I screamed, I punched the couch, the wall, fell to my knees, I was a mess, and so I should of. I went outside, screamed Pony's name, begging him to come back, but he didn't. I looked around the house, still sobbing, but he was no where to be found. _Just like last time._

I called Two-bit, Steve, and Buck's knowing Dally was there. They all rushed over when I told them it was urgent and that Pony was missing, then I told them what happened.

Steve never said much, told me to sit down, and told me that Pony would be fine, that he would come. He told me that he knew I didn't mean it, but I didn't believe him. Ponyboy begged me to stop, but I didn't. I don't know _what's_ going through his head right now.

Two-bit looked real guilty. He started pacing around the room, looking at his feet, quietly whispering "Damn it. Damn it. Damn it." I don't know what had him acting like _that_ , but I didn't care, all I could think of Pony, and if I thought I was a failure before, I sure has hell was now.

Dally looked ready to clobber me, and to be honest, I wouldn't mind if he did. He stayed where he was, leaving against the kitchen doorframe, glaring daggers at me. I could tell he was ready to yell at me, to tell me off real bad, but Steve noticed too, so he quickly told him to go get Darry. Dallas angrily sighed, but he went anyway, asking Two-bit for his car keys, who dug them out of his pocket silently, and handed them to the greaser.

 _Darry. What would Darry say?_ I thought nervously.

Not even ten minutes passed, and before I knew it, the front door opened, where Dally and Darry walked through, looking frantic and worried. We looked in each other's eyes, and I couldn't stop the tears that returned to my eyes.

I started sobbing as I stood up and ran into Darry's arms. For a minute I was sure he wouldn't hug me back, that he despised me for what I did to our little brother, but the thought disappeared as I felt Darry's strong arms wrap around me in a comforting hug, as my body shook violently. _Oh god, what the hell have I done?_

XXXX

PONYBOY'S POV:

I cried more than I ever have in my life. More than when my parents died, more than when I was missing my brothers in Windrixville, more than when Johnny died. I sobbed, and bawled, and wept, even as I got up and continued walking. I didn't exactly plan on running away like last time, that caused so many things to happen, Bob's death, the fountain, the church, the fire, _Johnny dying._ All it did was bring me pain, so I knew I would have to go home sometime, but right then, I couldn't even stop crying. I didn't know _where_ I was going, I just kept on walking, kept on wailing.

When I finally came to my senses, I was surprised at how I found myself. My hand throbbed and was swollen, my face hurt, and I could feel a colorful swollen bruise forming there on my left cheekbone as well. But what surprised myself the most, was where I ended up. It was dark out, the stars sparkling up the sky, and large, cleanly painted houses and tough looking cars in the driveways surrounded me. I was on the south side of town...in the _soc_ territory. What's worse, I didn't know my way home.

I was still crying a little, but I _refused_ to think about Sodapop, about what was waiting for me when I got home...would he still hate me? Would Darry be home and yell at me for running off? Were they going to... _hit_ me again?

 _No, don't think about them. Just find your way home, get outta soc territory, then you can go straight to your room. Don't look at them, just straight to your room, lock the door, and deal with it then. Maybe Two-bit might let you stay with him for a while._

I kept trying to reassure myself, and ended up speaking out loud. " _Just find your way home...straight ahead..."_ I said quietly as another tear dripped down my face. I ignored it, and tried looking at the pretty, twinkling stars to calm me down. " _Maybe you can follow the stars to find your way home..."_

The stars were real pretty. There were big ones, little ones, extra-bright ones, duller ones, no two were the same. They were mesmerizing to look at, they really were, and I found myself unable to take my eyes off them. They were truly _beautiful,_ one of nature's true beauty.

I didn't even notice as I kept walking straight as a turn began. I didn't even notice I was walking in the middle of the road. The stars were...so... _beautiful_. I started counting them. Big ones first, they were easier to see. _"1..2..3..4..5..6..7..."_ The wonderful, starry night sky had my attention.

Unfortunately, the mesmerizing, eye-catching view of the bright, varied sizes stars in the dark night sky was interrupted as the screeching of tires filled my ears, and a sickening smash and violent shove threw my body across the air. My eyes still stared at the stars. _"13...14...15...16..."_ I wondered if I was flying, it the violent shove and the screeching sound was a rocket blasting me off into the stars, but I didn't get time to decide as my view of the sky was replaced by the grey colour of the hard, cold pavement.

My vision went black, and I wondered if I was in the sky. I wanted to continue my attempt at counting the twinkling lights, but this time, there were no stars.

XXXX

 **Not a deathfic!** Remember, It's not a deathfic! Hope you liked it! Thank you for reading, and please review.


	4. Chapter 4

Welcome back folks! Thanks to all who have reviewed, it means so much. **THIS CHAPTER IS LITERALLY THE LONGEST ONE YET...THEY JUST KEEP GETTING LONGER. UGHH I CAN'T HELP IT.** Anyways, just, get really, really comfy this chapter.

I own nothing, besides a couple minor characters I made, but they're not even in this chapter, so... Enjoy!

 **TAKE CARE OF HIM JOHNNY CAKE - CHAPTER 4**

TWO-BIT'S POV:

I was fetching little sis something to eat when Sodapop called. My mind had somewhat drifted away from seeing Ponyboy crying in the lot, but I couldn't get my mind off him. Just a funny feeling, you dig?

My sister's ten years old, and she can make her own baloney sandwich without a hitch. I know that, but I was home, and honestly, I needed something to keep my mind off things. I handed her the sandwich, which was a little messy, the baloney was falling out, and the cut that was supposed to be directly in half was from a corner to a side. Neither of us cared though, the snack still tasted real good. _Of course it did, I made it of course._ I chuckled to myself. Maybe getting my mind off Ponyboy wouldn't be so hard as I thought it was going to be.

I went over to my living room, and started fooling with our tiny TV. The TV at my place hardly ever worked, and when it did, the screen was blurry and the voices were muffled. The Curtis's TV was small too, but theirs worked real good. Shoot, no wonder I used to go over there so much, it was the only place I could watch Mickey.

I frowned as my mind went back to the Curtis's again. I started fiddling, pressing random buttons and pulling cords to settle my mind again. The distraction worked, but only for a little while, until the phone rang. Little sis answered it, and I heard her quick answers to whoever was on the phone.

"Sodapop Curtis? ...yeah...Two-bit?...okay, golly, calm down, I'll get him," She said before she called my name. She held her hand over the bottom of the phone, so her voice couldn't be heard by...Sodapop, she said? "He's here freaking out, says he needs to talk to you, it's urgent."

That was enough to get me up and moving. Urgent? What was going on now?

"Yellow? Sodapop? That you?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's me," His voice was panicked, and if I didn't know any better, I would guess he was crying. "Look, you need to get over here, _now._ It's Ponyboy."

My blood thickened. Ponyboy? Did something happen? Did he not go home after I left him in the lot? Did the socs get him? Christ, _why didn't I help him?_

"...Okay, yeah, of course, be there in five."

Both lines ended, and I called out to my sister and told her I was only going to be gone a little while, and for her not to do anything I would do. I wasn't supposed to leave her alone, but she's a smart kid, she wouldn't do anything stupid. That, and something happened to Pony. I needed to get to the Curtis house, the house I _refused_ to go to after Darry welted me. But this was different.

 _This was Ponyboy._

XXXX

Despite my telling of Soda that I'd be at his place in five minutes, I was there in two. I didn't care if driving fast was finally putting my car in her deathbed, I needed to get to the Curtis house, and it was urgent.

I jumped out of the rickety vehicle and hurried up the steps to the house. I headed inside and my eyes met a panicked, upset Sodapop sitting in an uncomfortable position in the big armchair we all call Darry's, and the phone to his ear.

His voice trembles as he talks to the person on the other end of the line.

"...I don't care if he's sleepin', get Dallas Winston on the phone, _now._ Tell him it's Sodapop, and it's urgent."

Dally? Sodapop was calling Bucks? Boy, this must be real bad if Sodapop goes demanding at Buck.

A moment passed, and Sodapop spoke to the person on the line again, which I can only guess is Dallas. "Dal, hey...yeah, I know you we're sleepin' but-... no I'm not callin' for Tim. Man, you need to stop pickin' fights with the Shephard gang," He showed a sad smile which only increased my concern. "Yeah...look, I need you to get over here, okay? No...Dal, it's Ponyboy. Yeah, the kid. Hurry, I just got off the phone with Steve, he can give you a ride, and Two-bit's already here. Thanks man...yeah, bye."

Soda hangs up the phone and looks at me with red, puffy eyes. So he _was_ crying. He gets up from Darry's armchair and trots over to the couch. I don't know why...maybe he needed the movement.

"Soda, what's goin' on? Where's Pone?" I didn't miss the shudder he gave out as I mentioned Pony's name.

He didn't answer, just kept his sad, brown eyes that were once full of happiness and joy, glued to the wall across from him. I followed his gaze and my eyes found where there was once a large, rusty gold rimmed mirror, was now an empty wall, and below it was a blanket of shattered glass, and the rusty gold rim.

"Shoot, Sodapop, what happened?" He looked up at me this time.

"Wait till' Dally and Steve get here. I don't think I can tell it twice." He says slowly. My worries are increasing by the second, and the fact that it's getting late and Ponyboy isn't around, _and_ there's a shattered mirror on the floor, adds to it a real, _real_ lot. I nod at Soda, and lean against the wall next to the TV, not really feeling like sitting down with all these nerves running through me.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence between me and Sodapop, Steve and Dally come through the door, a look of mixed emotions spreading across both their faces. Dal had a small bruise on the corner of his lip, and I guessed it came from the hand of Tim Shephard, after Soda mentioned something about Dal always picking fights with him. I would of smiled, thinking about Dally and Tim's strange friendship, but my mind wandered no where else but Ponyboy, and _what the hell was going on?_

"Alright Soda, out with it. What's wrong with the kid?" Dally spoke up, leaning against the doorway to the kitchen.

Sodapop took a deep breath, shut his eyes, but didn't say a word. Honestly, I was ready to snap just as much as Dally. I wanted to know what was wrong with Pony? Why wasn't he here?

"Soda?" Steve said softly, attempting to comfort his bestfriend as he took a seat on the floor, crossing his legs and leaning his elbows on them. Those two have been friends since grade school, and I know Steve would do anything for the guy. Shoot, even if he hated the kid, he sure could hide it good in front of Sodapop. Bestfriends help each other out, it's pretty much part of the rule book.

Another deep breath came from Soda's quivering mouth.

"I, uh, _we_ got in a fight," He began, and I knew from the look on his face that it didn't end well. Nobody spoke up, so he continued on. "I was mad. Upset. Just havin' a bad day, you dig?"

"Get to the point." Dally said harshly, but we all knew he didn't mean nothing harmful by it.

"Darry came and told me that he and Pony got into a fight about his grades, that Pone was the one who started it. He said Pony was bein' real bad lately and startin' fights with him all the time, and failin' school." Starting fights? No, Pony wouldn't. I didn't believe it one bit. By the way he was crying in the bathroom that day, I knew he wouldn't start no fight for the sake of Sodapop.

Soda continued. "Like I said, I, uh, was havin' a bad day...what he told me, it just...made me snap. I drank some beer, I can taste in on my breath...I came home...he was here."

"Ponyboy?" I asked, just to make sure.

Sodapop nodded, but he didn't look at me. He had a look. It was...ashamed? What did he have to be ashamed about? Golly Sodapop, what did you do?

"It got bad real fast. I started yellin', _screamin',_ at him...I just, I don't know, I couldn't stop. I started pouring everything out at him. He started beggin' me to stop, to sit down, to just shut up...he was cryin'...I just...Christ, I wouldn't stop."

I swallowed. Deep down, I already knew how this ended, but I didn't want to believe it. Sodapop wouldn't...no. _No._

Sodapop started to cry. Tears started streaming down his movie star face as Pony would say, and then he eventually started to sob. I think by then we all knew how the fight ended. Steve got up and sat by Soda, and started rubbing his back as Soda hunched over and wailed. Dally had a hard, cold stare directed straight at Sodapop.

"Sodapop, you tell me the truth. What the hell did you do to Ponyboy?" Dallas growled, his pale blue eyes cold as ice.

"I-I..." Soda continued to sob, and I found myself staring at the floor. "I hit him. I punched him in the face...said the most horrible things to him...one minute we were talking, the next he was on the floor, sobbing, holdin' his face and his hand. Th-the mirror was shattered...he must've banged into it...then he just bolted. Ran straight out the door. I screamed...yelled...he wouldn't come back...he's gone."

I couldn't breath. _No. No, no, no._ This wasn't supposed to happen again. Ponyboy wasn't supposed to get _hit_ again...wasn't supposed to get hurt. I kept playing Sodapop's words over and over in my head. _He's gone, he's gone, he's gone, he's gone._ God damn it! God damn it, god damn it, god... _damn it._ I should've helped him...should've brought him home, stood up to Darry, should've been there so Soda wouldn't of...hurt him. I should've helped him! Why did I get in the car? Why did I... _drive off?_ Jesus Christ...why didn't I help him... _damn it._

I didn't even realise I was speaking out loud. I was trapped in my own thoughts, thinking of Ponyboy, thinking how I _ignored_ him. How did I let this happen? Right in front of my god damn face.

Soda wailed more, and Steve spoke reassurances to Sodapop. I wasn't _too_ angry at Soda, even though some was there. I was angry at _myself._ Angry that I didn't do anything. Angry that I left the kid alone.

Dally muttered some swear words under his breath, and he opened his moth, probably to yell at Sodapop, which was understandable for Dal, but Steve cut him off. "Dally, go get Darry, would ya? He's at Will Roger's, right Soda?" Steve said softly, which happened strangely often since Johnny died. We've all changed, so much too...but golly, I didn't think it would get this bad. Soda managed to control his crying, and meekly nodded. Dallas huffed, but did as he was told, and came over to me. I knew he was going to ask to borrow my car. I was going to tell him it might not even make it out of the driveway, but I couldn't find my words, so I silently dug my keys out of my jeans pocket and handed them to the greaser. A moment later the three of us heard my rickety vehicle pull out of the driveway, but none of us bothered to acknowledge it, or joke about how the sound of the high-pitched, needed-fixing fan belt could be heard across the state. The only sound that was heard inside the house was Steve's soft whispering, and Sodapop's sniffles.

It wasn't long until my car, and Darry's truck's headlights could be seen through the windows, and the vehicles pulled up in the driveway, at full speed, which probably means Darry knows the story.

Sodapop stopped crying, and his eyes looked like those of a lost puppy. Steve didn't stop speaking to him. At some point I went and leaned against the kitchen doorframe where Dal was, and I just continued to stare at the floor, thinking of Ponyboy, what he was thinking, where he was.

Dallas and Darry came through the door, and me and Darry locked eyes with me for a second. I didn't even think about that this was the first time we've seen one another since the whole "incident", and to be honest, I didn't care much. He could hit me all he wanted. Either way, I was going to find Ponyboy, and I knew he wanted to too, so we just had to put our own issues behind us for the time being.

Sodapop immediately started crying again once he seen Darry come through the door, and he got up and wrapped himself in Dar's arms. Of course, Darry returned the comforting hug. You just don't turn your back on family, no matter what they've done.

The two brother's let go of each other, and after a reassuring pat on the shoulder from Darry (which earned an annoyed snort from Dally), Sodapop returned back to the couch with Steve.

I noticed Darry's eyes glance over to the broken mirror, but quickly looked up, as he took a worried, but strong deep breath before he spoke. "Okay, so Ponyboy's been gone what like, forty minutes, right Soda?" Soda nodded slowly. "Okay, we have to go look for him. We'll split up, I'll go with Steve. Dally, you go with Two-bit. Sodapop, I know you want to help, but you're a mess kiddo. Stay here, in case he comes back, 'kay?" Soda nods meekly, and when Darry looks at the rest of us, we nod too. Steve gets up off the couch and gives Sodapop a pat on the shoulder.

"Okay, we need to check any place that Pony would go. The school, the lot, the cemetery, the old park, _anywhere_ you think of, check it. I don't want to call the police yet. I don't want no trouble with the state, and if the fuzz find out Pony's missin' again, the state is who is gonna get involved." Darry spoke clearly. I noticed the way Sodapop shook his head sadly at the mention of the state, and Ponyboy running away... _again._

"It's seven now, so meet back here like around...nine thirty? Ten? I don't want to get the cops involved unless we absolutely got to."

"Ten o'clock it is." I spoke up, determination in my voice.

The four of us got ready to leave, and Steve bent down in front of Soda, who was staring off into the distance on the couch. "We'll find him Sodapop. We will."

Darry gently ruffled Sodapop's hair. "It's going to be okay Pepsi, don't worry none." He said. Which wasn't true. We all had so much to be worried of. Ponyboy is out there, alone, probably cold, scared, and upset, because his big brother, his favourite person in the entire world, (like he said in his English theme one day that I had found), had hit him. How does one truly get over that?

We wasted no time, before we were out the door.

XXXX

DALLY'S POV:

To say I was fuming was an understatement. If we had stayed in the Curtis's house any longer, I'm sure I would've welted Sodapop clean across his face. I mean, Jesus Christ, sure, when Darry had hit the kid, we were all pretty shocked but let's be honest, you never really knew how far their arguments could go. But Sodapop, the guy the kid practically bows down to, the guy the kid pretty much sees as his hero, hits him? Yells at him? Everyone else was comforting _him,_ telling _him_ it was going to be okay, reassuring _him_ that Ponyboy was okay. Of course the kid's not okay? Who the hell is _okay_ after their brother, their own flesh and blood, punches them in the face?

Darry said for everyone to be back by ten, but I wasn't stopping until daylight. I could tell by the look on Two-bit's face that he wasn't going to stop anytime soon either.

Steve and Darry took Steve's car, but me and Two-bit didn't bother with any vehicles. By walking, we could search the place more thoroughly, and that was good enough for me.

The others said they were going to check the lot, the park, and the area around there, so me and Two-bit were going to check the cemetery and the school. At least, that's what we said. _I_ was going to search all over town. I'm going to find him, he couldn't have gotten too far in forty-five minutes, one of us _would_ find him. We _had_ to, and we were _going_ to.

I wasn't going to fail no one else. Johnny was one too many. I couldn't save him from the church, couldn't save him from his drunk bastard parents, couldn't save him from the socs, _both times,_ I couldn't save him. I had failed Johnny Cade, and I wasn't going to fail no one else. I wasn't going to fail the kid. Not Ponyboy. I don't care if it took all night, I wouldn't stop until the kid was found.

XXXX

We had to pick the lock to get into the school. Well, _I_ had to pick the lock to get into the school. Spending three years in New York and in jail can teach a guy some handy tricks, and I liked to say they stuck with me real good over the years. Pony probably wasn't _inside_ the school, but neither of us was sure if he knew how to pick a lock, so we checked anyways. I wasn't leaving any stone unturned.

The school was a bust. No sign of the kid inside, _or_ outside. It didn't lower my confidence any, we still had all night, and many places to check.

Two-bit and I went to the cemetery next, and Johnny's grave didn't go unnoticed. We both stopped by the stone memorial that was indented with Johnny's name, and both stared at it, reading the words engraved on it.

 _Johnathon Cade_

 _March 1st 1949 - September 5th 1965_

 _A loving son, and a caring friend._

 _Will never be forgotten_

I sighed. _A Loving son, and a caring friend?_ Nothing about the hero he was for saving those kids, nothing about the abuse he took daily, but always stayed strong, nothing about the events he's been through and how much the damn socs took from him...Johnny wasn't just a "loving son and caring friend," he was a hero, family, a brother to the whole gang. He was a strong kid, the strongest I've ever knew, and boy, am I happy to say I knew him.

"Take care of him Johnny Cake. Take care of Ponyboy." Two-bit said quietly, and started walking around the cemetery, searching for Ponyboy. I didn't say nothing, just gave his headstone a pat, and walked around the rest of the cemetery like Two-bit, which was unfortunately, lacking any sign of Pony.

The cemetery too, was a bust, and as much I wouldn't admit to it, this search kept looking more and more like it ended in a dead end. Shoot, I really thought the kid would've came here. He went to Johnny last time, You would think he might've came here to talk to him, you dig? But there was no sign of the scared and alone Ponyboy Curtis, and as me and Two-bit walked back on the road, I found myself speaking to Johnny too.

"Take care of him Johnny Cake, ya hear? If you're listening, listen real good. Somethin's happened to Pone, Johnny, and if you can, take care of him. _Please,_ Johnny, take care of him."

XXXX

Ten o'clock came faster than me and Two-bit had hoped, and even in the two-and-a-half hours we had been searching, Ponyboy was nowhere to be found. And what was worse, assuming that Steve and Darry had headed back to the Curtis's house, now we had nobody searching their area either. The whole search was starting to sound like a bust, but I wasn't stopping anytime soon.

Ponyboy has not yet been found, that parts clear. If he had been, Darry and Steve or Sodapop would of come and found us. Ponyboy's still out there, cold, alone, upset, and in the dark. He probably thinks nobody loves him. Shoot, we haven't been exactly hugging and being friends with the kid lately, and boy, do I regret it. Ever since Johnny died, the tension in the Curtis's house has been thick as mud, and it's been taking it's toll on the youngest. We all knew it too. Every single one of us knew Ponyboy was getting more to himself lately, getting quieter, _sadder._ It happened right in front of us, yet none of us was able to see. When Ponyboy needed a friend, none of us were there, and as much as I vowed not to fail the kid, I knew by ignoring and not being there for him, I already had.

XXXX

Ten o'clock faded into eleven, then twelve, then one o'clock in the morning. Ponyboy was nowhere to be seen, and it killed me and Two-bit. Both of us were dead on our feet, and if they sky wasn't dark before, it sure was now.

The stars gleamed extra bright, decorating the sky like a lit up Christmas tree. It was mesmerizing.

Two-bit interrupted my unplanned stargazing as he spoke sadly. "Dally...we gotta head back. We've been out here for hours."

"I ain't goin' back. We gotta find the kid." I said quickly.

"Dal...we were supposed to be back at ten. It's one now, and there's no sign of him." He stopped in front, and turned around to face me. "For all we know, Ponyboy's probably in bed, asleep. He probably went home, or Steve and Darry found him. Common Dal, he's probably wonderin' where the hell we are."

I shook my head in frustration, and walked past him.

Two-bit didn't follow, but he yelled out to me. "Dally, man, Darry, Sodapop, and Steve are probably wondering where the hell we've been. Come on, they got enough to worry about. Let's go, I'm tired too."

I sighed, and as much as I hated doing so, I turned around, and we started heading back.

"Come on, let's take the shortcut." I said, glumly. It killed me knowing that Ponyboy was out there somewhere, and we can't find him.

"That way heads into soc territory," Two-bit added, as we turned left off the road into an empty alleyway.

"So what? You said it yourself, we need to get back. This ways quicker."

Two-bit sighed, but agreed, and we headed down the path, littered with cigarette butts and garbage. I looked up at the stars again, but quickly turned my gaze back to my surroundings, now that we were passing through the south side of town. I had to be ready to fight if one came up.

It would take us about a half-an-hour to get back to the Curtis's place, and that was if no socs came to meet and greet us. I was _not_ in the mood to deal with any bigshot, no good, greaser-beating soc tonight. All this searching, and Ponyboy wasn't found. It drives me mad.

I was practically asleep on my feet, and I'm not entirely sure why. Shoot, I've stayed up all night before with no sleep at Bucks. The parties there pretty much are going around the clock, and lately, I've been hanging out there more than often. I guess it's just all these damn emotions. I wouldn't usually admit it to anyone, but I'm genuinely worried about the kid. It kind of bugs me. I'm not used to it not one bit. I was worried about Johnny every now and then, especially when I went into jail for getting caught stealing beer from a store. I was in the slammer for 25 days, out because of good behavior, and throughout those days, I mostly thought about was anyone looking out for Johnny like I was. I knew the gang was, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. _Worry._ Never really knew what it was until then, and boy, am I familiar with it now.

We were half way there to the Curtis's house, when I seen it. A dirty, torn up, bloody lump lying face down on the ground. I didn't think too much of it, New York's alleys were filled with homeless, beaten, and even dead people. You get used to the sight. As we walked closer, the giant pool of blood surrounding the individual became more visible, and we were surprised that it was growing. Was they guy still bleeding?

We noticed the pool of blood was larger around his head, which probably meant he was hit there or something. But most of the blood came directly from his left side. We couldn't see the source of all the bleeding, but by the looks of it, this guy was in real bad shape. He looked younger than both of us, and his body was covered in cuts and bruises. His right foot was twisted a sickening angle, and the shoe was gone, revealing a dirty, blood soaked, post-white sock. The boy had a thin, long-sleeved, pined colored shirt, and one sleeve was missing, like it was tore clean off, revealing more deep lacerations and bruises. What the hell happened to this kid?

" _Jesus Christ..._ what happened?" Two-bit breathed out, as if reading my mind. "Look at all the blood...you think a soc did this?"

"Wouldn't put it past em'." The kid was clearly a greaser. His clothes were old, his sneakers almost looked too small for him, and you could still see the grease in his half blonde, half auburn hair, which was heavily coated in blood, so I was half sure the auburn was just the crimson liquid staining the blonde.

I bent down and felt the boy's bare, bloodied arm. It was still warm.

"Aw, hell, Two-bit this must've happened just before we came."

Two-bit sighed, and ran a hand down his tired, worried face. "Bloody socs. Got to stop beaten up all the greasers," He motioned to the injured boy. "He's just a kid Dal."

I just nodded, the kid part didn't bother me. Something was off about him, the boy. It was like he was familiar, like...I couldn't put my finger on it. I began examining the kid to see if there was anything to explain my uneasy feeling, and my eyes went back to his arm. I looked closely, and there was a large scar, covering almost all of his arm. It wasn't bad, it was faded a bit, but it was there. The kid got burned off something, that's for sure. The odd, uneasy feeling increased to maximum levels, and for some reason, I felt the need to turn him over, to look at his face.

My heart thumped heavily, and my breathing quickened. Two-bit must've known what I was doing, so he went to help me. Two-bit took hold of the boy's legs, careful of his injured foot, and any other injuries he might've had, while I lifted his head and shoulders.

We gently lifted the boy together, and turned him over onto his back.

The sight made my heart stop. My quickened breathing slowed to halt, and my eyes couldn't leave the boys face. And by the silence, I could tell Two-bit knew how I felt.

There, bloody, cut, bruised, unconscious, and possibly _dying,_ lay the boy we've been searching for all night; the boy who roamed the streets, alone, cold, and sad; the boy who lost his best buddy a month ago, lost his friends afterwards, and the boy who thought he was all alone.

There, in the hands of me and Two-bit, lay Ponyboy Curtis. The missing brother, who ran away because his big brother hit him.

" _No..._ no, no, no, no, no. God damn it, no!" Two-bit yelled, as a tear slipped down his face. I was frozen. I couldn't move. I swore I would find him...but I never thought I'd find him like this.

There was a large, sharp chunk of glass stabbed into the left side of his abdomen, coated in blood as it gushed out of Pony. _That's where all the blood was coming from._

My eyes wouldn't leave Pony's face, where several bruises and cuts appeared. Now, you couldn't tell what bruise was caused by Sodapop. Couldn't even tell that he started the whole thing. Anger surged through me, and brought me back to my senses. I looked over at Two-bit, who was still staring at Ponyboy, saying " _no, no, no, no..."_ over and over as tears cascaded down his face.

"T-Two-bit go to the Curtis's. _Right now._ Run as fast as your damn legs can carry you. Tell them we found Ponyboy, call an ambulance." I spoke clearly, trying to avoid emotional voice cracks.

Two-bit didn't move, he just nodded.

"Two-bit, I know it looks bad, alright? Get it together man, come on, go get Darry, call an ambulance. Hurry, he ain't got much time left." I spoke more sternly. So help me god if Two-bit doesn't move his ass...

Two-bit scrambled to his feet, and ran down the alleyway, faster than he has ever gone before, just like I told him.

"Hurry Two-bit!" I yelled.

In a minute, Two-bit was gone, and it was just me and Ponyboy. I shook him gently, and pleaded for him to wake up.

"Common kid, open your eyes, 'kay? It's me, Dally, you dig? you're alright Pone, you just got to wake up..."

No response. I shook him a little harder, and to my surprise, his eyes opened, revealing a half-conscious, confused looking Ponyboy.

"Dallas?" His voice crackled, and it was barely a whisper. His body was still, he couldn't even move his eyes. They were glued on mine. God damn it kid, you're making me soft.

"Yeah, it's me kid, here to the rescue."

"Where am I?" His voice is softer, and his eyes begin to droop, which sets me off. I don't know a lot about medical stuff, but I watch enough movies and spent enough time in New York to know when someone goes to sleep after losing all that blood, it's not a good sign.

"Don't worry about that. You got to stay awake okay, man?"

He doesn't say anything, but he moves his eyes up to the sky, and his drooping eyes twinkle.

"I was just lookin' at the stars...they're real pretty huh?" He says raspy.

I looked up, and remembered when I first noticed them tonight. "Yeah, they're real pretty kid. _Real pretty."_

I continued to stare at the beautiful starlit sky, until I felt Pony's head roll to the side. I looked down immediately. _Come on Two-bit...move your ass..._

Ponyboy's eyes that were once awake and droopy, were now peacefully closed. "Shit...shit, shit, shit, shit." I murmured.

"Common Pony, open your eyes, you gotta hold on kid."

Ponyboy didn't move when I spoke, nor did he flinch when I shook him, even harder than I did last time.

"Come on, Ponyboy, I found you didn't I? Old Dallas here found you, and you're gonna be fine, so you gotta wake up..." My voice started cracking, but I didn't try to stop it.

"I ain't gonna fail you no more, okay? Not gonna fail you no more, you just got to wake up for me."

I started yelling, screaming at his limp body to just wake up, open his greenish-grey eyes, but he remained limp.

 _I promised I wouldn't fail you. I ain't gonna fail no one no more Ponyboy, so you got to wake up. You're okay kid, come on, get up._

But no matter how much I pleaded and begged for him to just _wake the hell up,_ he remained still.

Ponyboy didn't wake up.

And no matter how many times I told myself not to, stopped myself from doing so, I let a tear fall.

XXXX

 **Not a deathfic you guys, even if it may seem like one right now.** Thank you so much for reading, please review.


	5. Chapter 5

**I apologize if this chapter isn't as interesting and cliff-hangery as the others, my cold makes it quite difficult to focus and even see my computer clearly, which is also why this chapter is kind of shorter too. Hope you all like it nonetheless.**

Even though I have thanked most of those who have reviewed, I just want to do it again, so thank you _, so, so, so much._ And also thank you for all the "Feel better soons," It's real heartwarming.

I don't own anything besides the two made up characters that don't really come up much. :P

 **TAKE CARE OF HIM JOHNNY CAKE - CHAPTER 5**

PONYBOY'S POV:

I didn't like this darkness. There were no stars, no moon, _nothing,_ just pure, blackness. I didn't like it one bit. I couldn't wiggle my toes, couldn't clench my fists, shoot, I wasn't even sure I _had_ any toes to wiggle or fists to clench. I couldn't feel a thing; everything was... _black._ You know when you wake up in the morning, you're all fuzzy? Like you're still asleep, and slowly transitioning into consciousness and becoming more aware? Even then, you still can feel the weight of your legs, the flatness of your back in the blankets, the heaviness of your waking eyelids. In the darkness, I couldn't feel _anything._ No weight of my legs, no flatness of my back in the blankets, no eyelids that droop. It was disorienting at the least, and I did _not_ like it.

But as an unknown amount of time passed, I started to feel the familiar weight, flatness, and droopiness. I started to feel my toes, my legs, my arms, and eventually, I was able to open my eyes. And as I did, the sight of the beautiful twinkling stars above me in the night sky came into my view. I started to remember where I was, what I was doing. I remember the stars, and their hypnotizing beauty. I remember flying, thinking I was going up to touch the magnificent stars, until an agonizing smack as I hit the grey colour of the pavement, then lastly, the horrible darkness that surrounded me.

 _Oh crap,_ I thought. _I have to get home._ I remembered Sodapop's screaming, Darry's anger, Sodapop's fist painfully colliding with my face, and the running. Golly, how long have I been gone? As much as I hated the fact that I had to meet Soda and Darry after the incident, I knew I had to go home. Running away wasn't the answer, I knew it wasn't, so I was just going to have to suck it up.

But as I attempted to move, the more I became more aware, and then I was hit with unimaginable pain. It made my body pulse and tremble, my mouth opened in a scream, but not a sound came out. I shut my eyes tightly, but nothing could relieve myself of the pain.

I opened my eyes, and searched for what was causing this agony, and the sight made my stomach turn. There was blood all over me, it was everywhere. _My_ blood was everywhere. My shoe was off on my left foot, and I knew by the pain and the looks of it, my foot was broken. _Badly_ broken. My clothes were ripped and tore, my right arm was bare and there were cuts all over my hands and skin, some real deep and bleeding heavily. I had a headache, and it was a mighty bad one, worse than I have ever had before.

But the thing that caught my eye the most, the source of the most, agonizing pain, was the sharp, large piece of glass, drove deeply into my abdomen. I was nauseous just looking at it. Blood coated the sharp shard, but as I looked closer, I noticed some yellow and orange on it. It looked familiar, and was much thicker than a regular piece of glass from a mirror or something. The shard was really stabbed deep, I could feel it, and only 4 inches or so of the thing stuck out of my skin. I didn't know what it was, but glory, did it hurt.

My thoughts were interrupted as I started hearing voices. Four or five of them, in the distance. _Man, I really must be off my bonkers._ I thought, but then I looked to my right, and there they were, four boys, looking from fifteen to nineteen years old, yelling at each other.

"I told you guys drinkin' and drivin' was gonna end up like this!" A dirty-blonde one said frantically. He was short, and probably the youngest by the looks of it. They were all obviously socs. Their hair was cut short, and they were real expensive looking; madras, buttoned down, letterman jackets were worn in the group, along with clean jeans, khakis, and polished shoes.

"What? It's not our fault the kid was walking in the middle of the road." An ashy-brown headed one said.

"Yeah, so what? He's a greaser, he shouldn't even be in this side of town. The kid had it coming." The oldest one said. He had red hair, and was real mean looking.

"Guys, we're gonna to go to jail! We're drunk, we hit a guy, and most likely, that guy is gonna open his mouth to everyone he knows about who hit him." The dirty-blonde headed one said again.

"He's right, we gotta do somethin'." A black haired one said for the first time.

"And what might that be, tough guy?" The brown-headed one snapped.

"How bout' we hide him? Make sure he don't go runnin' off?"

There was a moment where no one spoke up, and I realised they were talking about me. Does that mean I was hit by a car? _They_ hit me with _their_ car? _Oh god...Darry's going to flip._

"Well what are we waitin' for? Come on." The mean, red haired one called, walking over to me.

The other three socs followed, and all together, they grabbed my legs and arms, not one bit gentle of my injured body. I screamed out, and the black haired one yelled at his friends.

"Shut im' up! We don't want no one hearin' us!"

I thought about the day I was jumped by a bunch of socs in that tough, red Corvair, and I would've laughed at the irony, but I was just in too much pain. My whole body screamed at me, and as my attackers carried me roughly down a strange path, I could feel the darkness threatening to take over once again.

After what seemed like a real long time, the socs dropped my tattered body violently on some more cold, hard pavement. The pain was making my eyes water, and I could barely make out my surroundings, but it was obvious that the guys had thrown me in an alley.

I wanted to scream. Boy, I wanted to scream so bad. I didn't care who got me, I just wanted the pain to stop. I would except help from anyone, Sodapop, Darry, even Steve. I just wanted someone to help me, and I was sure the socs weren't planning on it.

My breathing was fast and short, and I shook all over. I wanted to run away, but I couldn't move not one bit of my body.

"Sorry grease, but we can't have you calling for help now can we?" The oldest one said, staring me coldly in the eyes.

They stood there for a minute, probably deciding if they should do something else, but they decided against it, and took off running in the direction I was carried.

 _I'm gonna die here._ I thought to myself, as tears threatened to fall, half because of the pain, and half because of the glum realization. _I'm gonna die, bleeding in an alley after getting hit by a car. I'm gonna die, cold and alone._ The pain became almost unbearable after a while, and when the disorienting darkness threatened to consume me, I welcomed it. The feeling of no toes to wiggle and no fists to clench overwhelmed me once again, as I lay there, staring at the beautiful, twinkling stars in the night sky.

XXXX

I was familiar with the black, numb feeling, so I wasn't too disoriented this time around. Glory, it was heaven compared to the pain I had felt earlier.

Then I started feeling my toes and fingers once again, so I had to brace myself for the oncoming pain I knew I would have to face. But when I was able to open my eyes, all I felt was a dull throb, and overwhelming sleepiness. My eyelids drooped despite me just opening them, and it took a real amount of effort to even _think_ about moving my body. I was being shook, and as I became more and more aware of what was happening, I was greeted with a familiar face. He was real blurry though, so I made sure to ask before being sure.

"Dallas?" I said weakly, and was surprised at how crackled and hoarse my voice was.

He replied clearly, but you could hear the slight panic in his voice. "Yeah, it's me kid, here to the rescue."

I remembered the accident, the socs, the alley...was I still there? Everything was so blurry and hard to pick out. I could hardly even keep my eyes open long enough in between blinks to recognize my surroundings. "Where am I?"

"Don't worry about that. You got to stay awake okay, man?"

Golly Dal, I'm trying, but it's hard. _Real_ hard. I want to tell him how difficult that one simple task is, but I can't find the words. I just use some of my deteriorating strength to move my eyes up above Dally's head. Up to the stars like I remember looking at before this mess.

As my eyelids threaten to close despite my attempts at keeping them open, I use every bit of my strength into saying one last thing to him. "I was just lookin' at the stars...they're real pretty huh?" My voice real raspy.

He looks up at the night sky too, and replies clearly, like Dallas Winston always does. _Always used to._

"Yeah, they're real pretty kid. _Real pretty."_

I rest my head in Dally's lap, which is something I've never done before. Gosh, I don't think _anyone_ has ever don't that before. Not even...Johnny. But even though the position is completely unfamiliar to me and Dally, he doesn't try to move me, doesn't call me out for being a baby, doesn't remind me he's not Sodapop, he just...lets me stay there. So even though some people may say such a simple act is nothing to jump around over, it was to me, because maybe in that one moment, I seen the soft, kind-hearted, sad side of Dallas Winston. The side that Johnny always claimed to see. And let me tell you, it was real comforting to look at.

In that moment I forgot about all the pain I've been facing since Johnny died, forgot about the force of Sodapop's slap, and the sound of Darry's screams. I forgot about the sickening crunch of the soc's car against my body. Seeing that side of Dally made me feel real safe. Dallas Winston was feeling the sadness that I was. He lost possibly the only person he's ever loved, and he wasn't just the tough, mean, hood anymore.

I felt safe, _real_ safe. And as I let my eyelids droop one last time, and succumbed to the darkness again, I knew Dal would protect me. Just like I knew Johnny Cake already was.

XXXX

TWO-BIT'S POV:

I've never ran so fast in my entire life. Not when I found out Johnny and Ponyboy killed that soc guy, not when I ran over to the Curtis's house when I knew Ponyboy was home from Windrixville, not even when Pony called from a payphone claiming Dally was going to blow the night when Johnny died. I ran, and ran, and ran, despite the burning of my lungs as I got closer to the Curtis's home.

God, If I had just... _helped him,_ none of this would've happened. Darry wouldn't have yelled at him, Sodapop wouldn't have hit him, and what ever happened to hurt him like he was when we found him _wouldn't_ have happened. I could've prevented all of this. If I just went and gave him a hug, walked home with him, _anything_ besides get in the damn car.

 _No, can't think about that now,_ I thought as I turned down the Curtis's street. _Ponyboy needs you now. Stop thinking about what you should have done, and do something now._

Pony looked so...horrible. He was scratched up, bruised, hell, he was even stabbed. The blood...glory, there was so much of it. You couldn't even tell it was Ponyboy from all the blood he was covered in. That was until you saw his scarred arm from the fire in Windrixville and his soft, young looking features. Deep down, I had a feeling it was Ponyboy when we saw him, face down on the cold pavement in the alley. It was this strange, worrying feeling, you dig? I just pushed it down and told myself _"no, that isn't Pony. Pony isn't that boy, Pony went home, and he's asleep in his bed, being overly comforted by his two brothers, and maybe even Steve. Ponyboy's home, not in this alley."_ But despite my hopeful words that rung through my head over and over, I was horribly wrong. Ponyboy _wasn't_ home, wasn't being mother-hen'd by Darry, soda, and Steve. That bruised, bloodied, and unconscious boy in the alley _was_ Pony, and I'll never get the sight out of my head.

So I ran, because Pony was _not_ going to die. I wasn't going to let him. Because even though I haven't been there for him recently, I was there for him now, and I ain't going to let that kid die. Whether that meant my lungs giving out the minute I reached the Curtis's house, or whether that meant I was going to pass out from exhaustion, I didn't care. Ponyboy Curtis was _not_ dying today. He was going to die old, smelly and wrinkly in his bed, a wife and kids by his side, and he was going to go peacefully in his sleep. Not in some dirty west-side alleyway, bloody and scared, and only fourteen years old.

After what seemed like hours, I finally made it to the Curtis home, and I was ready to pass out then and there.

I ran up the steps and burst through the door, not caring if I even broke it off it's hinges. Sodapop was sitting on the couch, looking real worried, and Steve was sitting by him, an arm over his shoulder. Darry was up pacing the room, looking at his feet, almost as anxious as Soda was. When I came in, Darry immediately ran over to me, looking mighty angry, and Sodapop and Steve just jolted their eyes towards me.

As I attempted to catch my breath, Darry started hollering at me.

"Two-bit! Where the hell have you been? I thought we made it clear to be back here at _ten o'clock!_ You know what time it is? One-thirty-two in the damn mornin'!" He said, checking his watch. He looks out the door, and turns back to me, his tone a little quieter. "Where the hell is Dally?"

While I try to stay conscious from all the deep breaths I was taking, I don't answer, and I could tell Sodapop knew something was up.

"Two-Bit?" He says softly.

I wave my hand at him to let him know I'm okay, and rush over to the table by Darry's armchair, which lays their telephone. I grab the device urgently, and immediately dialed the number to the ambulance, which I have secretly remembered in case of times like this. Darry's angry look returns to the nervous, worried one, and I can practically hear Soda stiffen.

"Two-bit? What's going on? Did...did you find him?" Darry asks quietly. I don't answer, and immediately begin to speak up when a woman answers the phone calmly, despite my raspy voice.

"Hello, Tulsa Medical Centre, how may I help you?"

"Hi, I need an ambulance. My friend, he...he's been hurt real bad. He was unconscious and he was bleedin' alot," I said frantically. Sodapop gasped and covered his mouth, as a tear fell out of his eye once again. Steve rubbed his shoulders to calm him, but it wasn't working. Darry just stood there, staring at me, but staring in the distance. His expression was blank.

"Where is your friend now, sir?" She answered, still keeping that calm, friendly tone.

"He was in an alley...the alley by that old burger shack on the west side of town." I answered, remembering reading a sign right before we saw Pone.

"Burger Chef?"

"Yeah, yeah, that's the one. My other friend, he's, uh, with him right now in the alley. It's been about fifteen minutes since I was last with em'."

"Okay, I'll send an ambulance there right away sir."

"Yeah...hurry."

I slammed the telephone back on the receiver, and looked to see everyone's faces on me. Sodapop's sad, worried, and regretful. Steve's concerned and confused. Darry's shocked, nervous, and worried also. Steve got up from his place on the couch with Soda, and went into the kitchen, returning with a glass of water, which he handed to me. I chugged it down, and placed the glass on the side table, just as Steve spoke up.

"Two-bit, what. The hell. Happened." He asked shakily.

I took another deep breath, took another glance at the three worried, confused, frantic guys in the room, and I told them what happened.

I told them about the empty school, the empty cemetery, the walking around deciding to stay out later, and eventually, I told them about walking in that alley on our way back. I told them about how we seen Ponyboy, unconscious and on the ground, and how Dallas told me to run back and phone an ambulance.

I left out many gruesome details about Pony's condition, mostly because I was anxious to get back to him and Dal, but partly because I knew Sodapop and Darry shouldn't know. They shouldn't know that their little brother's blood ran down the pavement like a river. They shouldn't know that their little brother was unrecognizable from the amount of blood, bruises, and scratches he was covered in. They shouldn't know that someone probably _did_ this to their little brother. They shouldn't know, so I didn't mention it.

I'm pretty sure Steve knew I was leaving stuff unsaid, but he left it alone, because he understood. After I told Darry and Sodapop just the basics, they almost collapsed. Sodapop started sobbing and wouldn't stop whispering " _Christ, It's all my fault. It's all my fault. All my fault."_ Steve went up and helped him stand, knowing we had to get moving. Darry kept running his hand through his hair and rubbing his eyes, probably attempting to stay calm and trying not to cry, but anyone who took a look at him could tell he was barely keeping it together.

I got up and made sure everyone was ready to head out, and Darry finally spoke up.

"Two-bit, you, uh, take Steve's car and you, Sodapop, and Steve lead the way to Ponyboy," He said, his voice cracking at his little brother's name. "I'll follow in my truck."

Nobody argued, even Steve who probably would be steaming if Darry had told me to take his car on a regular day, but he understood, so he wrapped his arms around Soda and got in the backseat of his car with him as we all headed out the door. I hopped in the driver's seat, shakily turned on the engine and put her in drive, pulled out of the Curtis's driveway, and raced down the road, Darry right behind me.

We broke the speed limit by 50, and none of us cared if the police chased us; we weren't pulling over.

 _We're coming Ponyboy. Hang tight kid, we're coming._

XXXX

Like before, I apologize if it's a few days until the next chapter comes up. My immune system is taking it's time getting rid of this cold, and it's real annoying. It should be a few days. :)

Please like and review, and see you next time!


	6. Chapter 6

Welcome back! I'm glad to announce that my flu bug has been on it's way out the door, and I am beginning to get back into the regular writing!

 **ALTHOUGH:** Final exams are coming up very soon, and my stress levels and studying nights are rising, which also means that it still might be a little while until a chapter will come up. Not forgotten, just put to the side a bit, because I'm almost sure these exams will be the death of me. Any spare time I happen to acquire will be put to this story, so no need to worry!

I own nothing only a few made-up characters. Everything else goes to S.E Hinton.

 **TAKE CARE OF HIM JOHNNY CAKE - CHAPTER 6**

SODAPOP'S POV:

This was the worst day of my life. The whole day. Every, horrible, painful, second of it. It started in the morning. Darry and Ponyboy were arguing over god knows what, we were all running late, and the tension in the house was as thick as mud. Pony had a nightmare the night before, and he woke up with his usual screaming. I tried to ignore the fact that the nightmares have been happening more often now that Ponyboy is moved back into his old room, but it's real hard. Darry stayed in bed, even though I know for a fact the piercing scream woke him up. I trotted over to Pony's room, and sat down on his bed as he sat up panting. He's been managing to wake himself up I've noticed. There's been nights were you'd hear just whimpering, and then nothing, like Pony was trying to control them without help. Without _my_ help. He looked at me with sad, apologetic eyes, and I wanted to crawl in bed with him, pull him close to my chest like the good old days and tell him it's okay. I wanted to, so bad, but then I remembered all the broken promises and the fights and screaming that occurred. I remembered how different we all were since Johnny died and how we can never be the same. For a quick second, I remembered, and instead of the soft, comforting words I wanted to say to my little brother, harsh ones escaped my mouth instead.

"Keep it down, I got work in the mornin'." I knew it wasn't the most horrible thing I could of done to him, it wasn't like the screaming he got from Darry, but it was bad enough, and I could tell he took it hard. I wanted to squeeze him and tell him _no, Pony, I didn't mean it_ but before I could make a sound, he glumly nodded his head, turned on his side away from me, and pulled the covers up to his chin, completely ignoring me. I sighed, and walked back to my room, feeling like a complete asshole.

I wanted to apologize him in the morning before he went to school, but as I got up and trotted sleepily in the kitchen, the loud scowls and lectures coming from Darry and the mouthy remarks coming back from Ponyboy was anything but hard to miss. The hollering put a damper on my good mood (which I got rarely nowadays), and by the time Pony slammed the front door on the way to school, and me and Steve were headed to the DX, I had completely forgotten about the soft apology I had planned for my little brother.

Work was annoying. It was cold out, the fall air was really setting in since it was this late in the year, but we still had to work. There were no interesting or tuff cars to fix up, no pretty girls to flirt with, no socs to tell off, _nothing._ We hardly had any customers, and even the ones we had were usually people grabbing something quickly, paying without even looking up or saying a word, and then heading out again. It was boring as hell, and you could say I was super happy when the clock struck 6:30PM, indicating my shift was officially over. I stayed with Steve as he was finishing up an old car he was fooling with, and that's when Darry came. His truck sped into the parking lot, and I was expecting him to tell me to get in for a ride home, even though he didn't tell me he was picking me up. That was until he got out, stomped over to me angrily, and started blabbering about how Ponyboy was getting worse and worse, that he isn't going to get anywhere starting fights like he is now, that he was going to have a word to the principal and how Pony was being ungrateful and rude.

I was already having a bad, annoying day, and let me tell you, by the way Darry was yelling and speaking about Ponyboy, it wasn't making it _any_ bit better. He didn't wait for me to answer after he was done ranting about our youngest brother, and the next second he was in his truck, ripping out of the parking lot, and heading for the high school. I huffed, rolled my eyes, and went back to the store, where Steve was going through the mail that's been sent to the store. He must've noticed my sour mood, so he never said much, but spoke up when he came across a letter with my name on it.

"Hey Soda, you got mail buddy," he said, handing me the white folded paper. My name was written across the folded envelope in fancy handwriting, and I had felt somewhat familiar to the style. I just couldn't put my finger on it.

That didn't last long though.

Of course, the letter was the letter from Sandy, and scrawled across the top, in the same, fancy handwriting, was "Happy birthday, Sodapop" and her name was signed at the bottom. That's it. I poured my heart out to her, told her I loved her countless times and wanted to marry her, even after the dreadful news of her cheating situation, and that's all I get. A week late, no return address, plain, simple, birthday wish. My birthday was nothing but happy, and to be honest, I'm glad I didn't get it on my birthday. It would've drove me off my mind, after the day was already filled with the screaming and yelling of my brothers. But birthday or not, the letter already took over me. Like a switch flipped, and suddenly, all I felt was _anger._

I shoved the letter in my back pocket, told Steve to take me home bluntly, hopped out of his car without a goodbye, and stomped into the house, where I was greeted by Ponyboy. Despite the fight I knew he and Darry had earlier, he still put on a soft smile. I knew it was fake, I knew he was only doing it for me, but I didn't care. He was doing it for _me,_ and the thought made my insides all warm an fuzzy.

Not then, though. God, how I wished I could take back those moments in the house. I didn't care about his smile, didn't care about his soft greeting, all I saw was anger, and unfortunately, Ponyboy was there to take the blow of it.

And now, here I am, in a car with Steve and Two-bit, Darry following in his truck, and heading to my hurt little brother. He was _hurt._ _Hurt real bad._ I kept telling myself every second, playing it over and over again, and it's a wonder I could get the tears to stop.

The minute Two-bit explained to us what had happened and got off the phone with the ambulance, I started bawling, and wanted nothing more than to be with Ponyboy. I wanted to smother him in hugs and kisses, drown him in apologies and promises to _never_ do anything like that again, I wanted to be with him, I wanted my little brother.

I still wanted to be with him as we sped around a turn, but I started getting scared, nervous. _What was he really like? How badly was he exactly hurt? What if he was already..._ no. I told myself _no, he's fine, you just got to get to him._ I had to get to him, had to be near him, because he needs to know I'm here, I didn't mean any of what I said and did, he needs to know I'm still Sodapop, his big brother who loves him with all my heart. Every damn bit of it, and I _need_ him to know that. He's not going no where until he _knows_ I love him, I don't hate him, god, I could never hate him, not even if I tried.

I wasn't crying anymore, but I was sweating something fierce as we raced passed soc-looking houses, tough looking cars in the driveways. I took a shaky, deep breath, and forced the emotional lump down my throat, and then Two-bit pulled into the parking lot of Burger Chef, and I realized this was the burger shack he was talking about earlier on the phone. The burger shack that Ponyboy and Dallas was at. The burger shack they found him.

My emotions started taking control again, but I shoved them down like last time, and started breathing again as Two-bit parked Steve's car, Darry pulling up right beside us in another parking spot.

He shut off the engine and neither of us wasted any time before we were up and out of the car, and running over to Darry. He nodded his head to us to signal he was good to go, and Two-bit took off running down an alley. _The_ alley. The one he was talking about on the phone to the ambulance. I squeezed my eyes shut to turn off the emotions that threatened to take over me, and headed off following Two-bit, Darry in front of me, and Steve close behind.

I found myself scanning the ground, the buildings, _everything_ more than I usually would have for anything to give a clue on my little brother's condition. There wasn't much, but once I noticed a large droplet of blood near my feet as I ran past it, and I had to cover my mouth to keep from crying out. It wasn't a lot of blood, probably only enough to come from a small cut or something, but I couldn't handle the fact that it probably was _Ponyboy's._ Pony's blood was there on the pavement, a small bit or not, it was there. My little brother was bleeding somewhere, and just the thought of it made me want to curl up and scream my lungs out.

 _If I had just kept my mouth shut..._

The negative thoughts poured in my mind, but I tried to keep them away as much as I could; I had to be strong. I had to keep it together for Ponyboy. I owe him that much for god's sake.

But to my horror, any thoughts and walls I had put up blocking my emotions crumbled away as we all stopped to meet the two teens on the alleyway floor.

Dally, and ... _Ponyboy._

I couldn't hold it in anymore. I just couldn't. I let out a sob, and crashed down to my knees in front of the two greasers, and started bawling again. I didn't even _try_ to pull it together, it would have been no damn use.

All that was heard was the muffled breaths of Dallas's blow into Ponyboy's mouth, and the rough compression sound as he pushed swiftly and powerfully down on Pony's small, unmoving chest.

I wasn't any genius, but anyone with a brain could figure out the horrific truth of the scene in front of me.

Ponyboy had stopped breathing. The noticeable breaths that could be seen coming out of everyone's mouth in the cold air could not be seen from Pony's, and I knew, I just _knew_ Ponyboy's heart had stopped too.

Dallas pushed down another five times onto my brother's frail chest, and returned to blowing air in his mouth a couple times. I don't know where he learned to do that, but I didn't care. All I cared is that if it would help him. Help Ponyboy. It's got to help Ponyboy. It has to.

I took in the sight of my little brother as my silent sobs and emotions wrecked my body, and it only made me cry more. The thing that caught my eye first was the bloody piece of glass sticking out of Pony's abdomen, and I knew it was the main source of all the blood that surrounded him. He was missing one of the sleeves of his shirt, revealing his scar and many, _many_ cuts, bruises, abrasions, and other injuries. Pony's pale face was covered in the cuts and bruises as well, and I figured he was covered in them. Even one of his _shoe_ was off, revealing the sickening turn of his injured foot. Blood was _everywhere,_ and I think of back to the small puddle of blood I saw earlier, and thought of how I couldn't have imagined what that was compared to.

Darry ran over to the unmoving Ponyboy and determined Dallas, and took hold of Pony's hand and squeezed it hard. He started saying something to him, but I couldn't hear him over my own racing heartbeat and the sobs that shook my body. Steve came and knelt down next to me, and just put his hand on my shoulder, not saying a word. There wasn't anything _to_ say that could make this better. Nothing. Two-bit never said anything either, just leaned forward on the building wall, his hand holding him up and one hand covering his face. I didn't know if he was crying or not, but he was shaking a real lot, and anyone could tell he was barely keeping it together.

Every minute lasted hours, and I couldn't keep my eyes off my unconscious, unmoving baby brother lying in on the pavement. Dallas's face was cold and hard, and if he was tired and aching from all the compressions he was doing to Ponyboy, he didn't show it, and continued on with as much strength as the last hard push, every now and then mumbling "Come on kid," or "breath kid, common Pony, breath."

Darry was crying now too, and it was if all the screams, all the arguments, all the horrible fights that happened between my two brothers had ceased to exist, as Darry started smoothing Pone's hair back from his bruised, cut up face, and meanwhile still squeezing his hand. He was trying to keep his emotions in too, I realized, but he didn't move to wipe away the tears as they uncontrollably started to fall. His focus was on Ponyboy, and I knew he was feeling guilty too.

I was crying so much I was sure I was going to throw up. Not a sound came from my mouth as the violent sobs and shakes wrecked my body. I wanted to scream. Glory, I wanted to scream so bad, but I couldn't make any sound. Nothing. So I continued to bawl quietly as the terrifying sight of my baby brother lay in front of me, and my bestfriend rubbed my shoulder as he sat by me.

I don't know how long it was until the ambulance arrived. It felt like hours, but it probably was about ten minutes or so. I knew emergency services always reached here on the west side of town faster. They wouldn't admit it, but us greasers were never close to their top priority like the socs were. The socs were the "nicer, more valuable, wealthier bunch," and we were just dirty, violent hoods who were never serious about emergencies. But man, were we serious now, and the hospital expected us _to_ be, because we told them to come to the _west_ sideof town. The soc side of town.

But even if they got to us quicker than they usually would have, it was still too long. It was still the longest wait I've ever had to endure. I didn't care if they made it here in two minutes; it would be hours to me, and I knew the gang probably felt the same way.

My breaths were coming out in pants as two paramedics pushed Dallas away swiftly so they could work on Pone, despite Dally's refusals and curse words upon them. Darry managed to pull Dally away, and one paramedic brought over a flat, white blanketed surface, and in a quick, three-seconded countdown, the two medics simultaneously pulled Ponyboy's limp body on top of it. With the flip of a switch, the flat surface which my brother lay on opened into a wheeled gurney, and as one man put a clear, plastic mask over Pony's nose and mouth, the other rolled the gurney up to the ambulance. The gurney's metal legs folded slightly as the stretcher lifted up into the back of the vehicle, Ponyboy still unmoving during all the commotion.

I still remained on the pavement, hand over my mouth in pure panic and worry, Steve by my side. Darry and Dallas were standing and attempting to move at all angles to get a glimpse of what the strangers were doing to the youngest member of the gang. Two-bit still remained leaned against the wall face on, shaking and silent.

When Ponyboy was settled and ready for the trip to the hospital I guessed, one paramedic yelled out quickly. "One of you can ride in the ambulance too," He called.

I immediately stood up then, raised my hand swiftly and answered "I will."

The medic nodded his head, and motioned for me to step up in the vehicle, but before I could put one foot on the edge of the opened ambulance that carried my brother, a hard, slightly trembling hand came to meet my chest.

My watery eyes snapped to the unexpected shove, and as they followed their way up the person's arm, a familiar, harsh, pale blue eyed teen met my gaze. _Dallas Winston._ But Dally's face was nothing like familiar to me. They were stern, serious, and raging. He was angry, and for the first time I could think of, the glare was directed at _me._ I never knew what it was like to be the one hit with Dallas Winston's stone cold, icy, look, but now I did, and I didn't like it one bit. I wasn't usually scared of Dally. I never believed he would actually hurt me like he hurt some others and the socs, but then, I didn't know _what_ to think. I wouldn't tell anyone, but I was honestly slightly scared.

I locked our gaze, and gave him a look that said "What, Dally?"

His glare only hardened, and before I could speak up, he angrily shoved me out of the way, and spoke up himself.

"You've done enough. I'm riding with him." He coldly stated, and the paramedic who probably didn't have much patience left didn't refuse as he and Dally stepped up into the ambulance, the door shut behind them.

The vehicle drove off with it's sirens turned on, and wasted no time as it raced out of the alley and down the road, on route to the hospital. I stood there, shocked, angry, and guilty, and tears began to make their way down my face again. Steve stepped up and put his hand on my shoulder comfortingly again, and Two-bit rubbed his face with his hand and walked over to us, his face emotionless and blank.

Two-bit wasn't Two-bit then. He was Keith Matthews, who tragically lost a friend a month ago, and it is extremely likely he could lose another by the end of the day. He was an eighteen year old kid who has seen too much. Been through too much. He was a kid, who didn't know what to do to help, didn't know what to do with the terrible emotions that wrecked his insides, so he went blank. Didn't let them out, just went into auto-pilot mode, and went from Two-bit to Keith in under a minute, and that's who we were greeted with now.

Darry took a minute to catch his breath from all the stressful commotion that just occurred, then started running down the alley, towards the parking lot where Steve's car and his truck was parked. We all took off behind him. Barely able to stand, but we didn't stop.

Steve didn't hesitate as he hopped in the back of his car with me, and Two-bit took the wheel. I knew he was doing it for me. Steve did almost everything for me, and golly, did I appreciate it. I wouldn't even be able to breath or stand straight if it wasn't for him, and I loved him so much for that. He is, and always will be my bestfriend, and we both wouldn't have it any other way. But my mind was on Ponyboy, riding in the back of the ambulance with Dallas Winston, not breathing or moving.

Darry sped off first, and we followed. I knew we wouldn't catch up to the ambulance, it had a head start and was going really fast. So we just took our own route, breaking almost every speed limit known like did before, and headed for the hospital, where my baby brother would soon be dropped off, and taken into the hands of strangers. His life would be in the hands of doctors and nurses, and me and the gang had no say in it whatsoever.

I'm not a religious guy, I never really was, but before I even realised what I was doing, my head was in my lap, my hands pressed against my forehead and put together, and I started whispering. I didn't know who I was whispering to, but then I realised who, and I whispered more clearly, more determined.

"You gotta take care of him Johnny Cake, you got to. Take care of Ponyboy Johnny, take care of him one last time."

And the hospital parking lot came into our sights.

XXXX

Phew! Thanks for reading, and so sorry for the wait!

 **PLEASE READ: LET ME KNOW WHICH POV YOU WANT WRITTEN NEXT CHAPTER. I USUALLY WRITE 1-2 POV'S EVERY CHAPTER, SO PLEASE REVIEW OR PM ME WHAT CHARACTERS YOU WANT TO HEAR OF IN CHAPTER 7! THANKYOU!**


	7. Chapter 7

Just before we start the chapter, I want to thank you all again for the heartwarming reviews that have been written about this story. Every favourite, every follow, every PM and review... gosh, I could get all teary just thinking about them. So thank you. Thank you all so so much.

You guys know the deal. I don't own anything besides a couple characters and those socs I made up.

 **HEY! LET ME KNOW WHICH POV YOU WANT NEXT CHAPTER! I HAVE IT PLANNED, BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN I WON'T CHANGE MY MIND IF YOU GUYS WANT ME TO!**

 **TAKE CARE OF HIM JOHNNY CAKE - CHAPTER 7**

STEVE'S POV:

Man, I'd never thought I'd see this day. No, seriously, the day that Sodapop flipped out and hit Ponyboy, and Dallas Winston goes all protective mode on the kid in the same day was _never_ planned on my calendar. Probably wasn't on either member of the gang's either.

I didn't know _what_ to do. I mean, Soda practically worships the kid. He would never holler at him like Darry does, let alone _hit_ him. Well, that's what I thought anyways. I didn't know what the hell to do to help. I felt bad for the kid, sure, we all knew how much he adores Sodapop, of course he would react the way he did, I mean, come on, it must've sucked real bad when Sodapop snapped at him. But, then again, I also felt bad for Sodapop. I knew he didn't mean whatever the hell he said to the kid, and I knew he obviously didn't mean to hit him. He blamed himself for everything that happened afterwards, and he took it real, _real_ hard. He could hardly keep it together, and all that crying and bawling was him _trying_ to. Let alone if he lets it all go.

Sodapop was my best buddy, and even if he did something real bad, he sure as hell didn't deserve all this weight and guilt of thinking this was all his fault. I know what he did wasn't right, believe me, I do, but Sodapop takes everything hard, and god only knows what was going through his head when Two-bit ran in and made that phone call.

Me and Darry looked over the whole neighborhood when we were out searching for Ponyboy. We took one half, and Two-bit and Dally were supposed to be searching the other half. The deal was be back to the Curtis's house at ten, and even though Darry seemed like he wanted to stay out longer and look for the kid, we headed back. I didn't want to leave Soda too long anyways, and I knew Darry didn't either, even if there was a slight hint of anger towards him for hitting Ponyboy. I doubt it, though, Darry hardly every gets mad at Sodapop. Sodapop's just the kind of guy nobody can truly be mad at.

That was until I seen the look on Dallas's face.

When we all made it to the alleyway where Ponyboy and Dally were, I still didn't know what to do. Darry bolted over to both of them, and started comforting the kid, but to be honest, I think he was just trying to comfort himself. Two-bit kind of froze. I couldn't blame him. Hell, I couldn't even process what was going on in front of me. Sodapop just broke down then and there, started bawling his lungs off, and then...not a sound. He was crying so hard he couldn't even _make_ a sound, and his sobs came out in small chokes and violent tremors.

I didn't know what to do. Man, I really didn't. So I just started trying to help Sodapop. I wasn't going to say nothing to him, let's face it, what _can_ you say to a guy who's brother is practically dying in front of him and he's being given CPR by one of his buddies? That's right, nothing. So I just sat by him, rubbed his back, rubbed his shoulders, shushed him comfortingly every now and again.

I wasn't going to give him that " _It's gonna be okay, Pony's gonna be fine"_ crap. Ponyboy _wasn't_ fine, and really, none of us knew if he _would_ be. I wasn't going to start lying to Sodapop and just making it worse. I wasn't. But it didn't help the fact that I had no idea _what_ to do. Golly, I couldn't even move. I was just so...shocked.

So saying it was a relief when the ambulance got here was a major understatement. At first, Sodapop didn't move much when the medics hauled Ponyboy away from an angry Dallas and an upset Darry, he just stared at the commotion in front of him, still crying.

One of the medic said someone could ride in the ambulance with the kid, and as I would expect, Soda jumped so fast it would make your head spin. I got up then, and so did Two-bit who was still as lost looking as when we first got here to the alley.

I expected Darry to maybe speak up and ask Sodapop if he was sure, or even volunteer to get in the ambulance himself, but I sure as hell didn't expect _Dally_ to step in front of Soda.

Dally was supposed to be either yelling or punching someone, or standing at a distance looking all dangerous and cool, not going all protective mode on the youngest. Dallas Winston didn't care for nobody. Of course, he did somewhat care for the gang, and we all knew he loved Johnny Cake like a brother, but when he died, Dally went back to the cold, mean, no-good, JD hood. Dally didn't care for nobody no more, and he sure as hell wouldn't care about the kid enough to step in front of Sodapop for him.

But to everyone's surprise, he did.

My mouth dropped open when Dally pushed Sodapop away from the vehicle, looking meaner than I've seen him since he ran in during the rumble a month back. I expected Sodapop or Darry to protest or speak up as Dal hopped right inside the ambulance, next to the gurney that Ponyboy lay, but nobody spoke a word. Not a sound.

Dallas's words seemed to echo through the alley, and I knew Sodapop felt even more guilty than he had before. _"You've done enough. I'm riding with him."_

I sighed, and went over to comfort Sodapop some more, who looked like he was ready to fall over again. I didn't blame the guy, nobody liked being on the bad side of Dallas Winston, let alone being on it because of hitting your little brother.

Before I could manage to think of sensible words to say, Darry had took off running down the alley. Me, Sodapop, and Two-bit didn't waste any time before we followed him, and it wasn't long until we were all speeding to the hospital, three of us in my car, and Darry in his truck ahead of us. I let Two-bit drive again, Sodapop needed someone there for him, and I was going to be the one who was. I wasn't going to let him suffer alone, I wasn't going to turn away from my bestfriend, I was going to help him, even if I didn't exactly know how at the moment.

We reached the hospital pretty quick. It was almost two in the morning and a Tuesday night, not many cars were going across the road so we didn't have to worry much about hitting no one. The fast speed we were going helped quicken the ride quite a bit too, must I say. But still, the ride still felt long as the thought of how beaten Pony looked ran through all of our heads.

Ponyboy was...god, he looked _horrible._ Nobody wanted to say it, but he already looked dead. Nobody could survive after losing all that blood. _Nobody._

But no matter how much I kept bracing myself for the horrible news that the youngest greaser was dead, there was always this tiny pinch of hope swarming around inside me, and I knew it was swarming around inside the others too.

We parked hastily, and we probably took up more parking spots than we were supposed to, but none of us cared. As soon as Two-bit stopped moving my car, Sodapop was up and running to the hospital entrance. I got out and waited for Two-bit; he wasn't holding up too well, that was obvious, and he needed a friend too. Two-bit quickly shut off the engine, hopped out of the car, and pocketed my keys, knowing the driving arrangements would probably have to be the same on the way back. That is if Sodapop actually _leaves_ the hospital, which I am totally sure he won't be doing in his own will.

Darry was already running behind Sodapop, not bothering to tell him to wait for him, and me and Two-bit were jogging behind. We kept our distance a bit, knowing the Curtis's probably needed a family moment or something.

Sodapop was through those doors as fast as you could think, and Darry was only a second behind him. I didn't know what went on after the two brothers went inside, but anyone from a mile away could hear the urgent yells coming from Soda, which I thought probably meant he was yelling at the receptionist, whose always on your case whenever you walk in through those big glass doors.

The yells were still coming when me and Two-bit came inside, and not to my surprise, Sodapop was screaming at the nurse in the desk, who looked rather taken aback from his yelling, but she was talking back to him in an angry, annoyed tone. I couldn't blame her, having a teary-eyed teenager hollering in her face and all, but Sodapop wasn't taking any of this situation well, and we all expected him to start yelling at some point.

Darry on the other hand was attempting to calm Soda down and apologize to the nurse at the desk at the same time. There were tears in his eyes, but you could tell he was trying real hard to stay strong. Good ol' Superman, that Darry is.

"I need to see my brother! His name is Ponyboy Curtis, and he was brought here in an ambulance, and I need to see him!" Soda yelled.

"Sir, you need to calm down, or I'm going to have to call security," The nurse said sternly.

"Just let me see my brother! Please!"

"I'm afraid you'll have to wait, sir-"

"No! Look, I'll be quick, please, I just need to see him! I need to say I'm sorry! I need to say sorry!" Sodapop started crying there again, and Darry's attempts at calming him weren't doing their job very well.

"Young man, if you would please calm down..." The nurse's town dialed down a bit when she saw the emotional state Soda was, but she still spoke clearly and strongly.

"I can't calm down! I need to see Ponyboy! He needs to know I'm sorry!"

Sodapop's screams were even louder, and that's when me and Two-bit knew it was time to step in. Soda was going to get himself kicked out, and neither of us wanted that to happen. Besides, it just gives Dally another reason to be pissed at him, and I know he wouldn't want that. We ran over to the desk where the commotion was happening, and we both took hold of Soda; me on his left, Two-bit on his right.

"Soda, come on, you don't want to get kicked out, man. Come on, let's go sit down. Pony's going to need you here when he wakes up, and you can't be there for him when your kicked out now can ya?" I said as gently as I could, and we guided him to the waiting room, despite his weak struggles.

"I need to...I need to say I'm sorry, he needs to know I'm sorry, he doesn't know I'm sorry, he thinks...he thinks I hate him...he has to know I love him, he has to." Sodapop sobs, and my heart breaks for how sad he sounds.

"He knows you do. He knows you love him, buddy. He does, lets just sit down okay?"

He weakly nods, and the three of us sit down together on the hard, plastic chairs in the waiting room. I sat on the left side of Sodapop, and Two-bit left a seat between himself and Soda, probably knowing Darry will want to sit next to him. Good ol' Two-bit, always thinking of stuff.

Sodapop fidgeted in his chair a bit, he was never one to keep still, and none of us exchanged any words. Two-bit was real lost and away looking. He kept going in his head and staring off into the distance like the kid always did. I knew him and Pone got pretty close after Johnny died, but I wasn't around much to notice what went on. With the kid and Darry always fighting, and Soda's whining about them all the time, it wasn't something you really wanted to get caught up in a lot, you dig? I think that's why Two-bit and Dallas stayed away too, but I couldn't be sure. But before we knew it, the whole gang was drifting apart, and where once there was a group of friends who were as close as family, there was friends so distant that they would pass each other in the street and they wouldn't even know.

Darry returned a couple minutes later, and sat down in the seat between Soda and Two-bit with a long, tired sigh.

"The nurse said Pony just got in...she don't have any information on his condition, so we'll have to wait until the doctor comes." He said.

"Where's Dally?" I asked.

"Should come out in a minute, they don't let no one in the trauma center where Pony's going, only doctors and nurses."

I nodded, and slumped back into my seat, glancing at Soda every now and then to see if he was okay. But that's the thing, he _wasn't_ okay. Sodapop wasn't going to be okay until _Ponyboy_ was alive and well, and in his arms again. That much was obvious, and as sad as it is to say, none of us knew if Ponyboy was going to be able to be held in his arms alive again.

It doesn't matter if I had time to process everything going on, I still didn't know what to do.

I didn't know if I should be yelling at the nurse to find a doctor and give me some information on Pony, I didn't know if I should leave and let the Curtis's deal with this as a family, I didn't know if I should be sneaking in through those _Authorized personnel only_ doors and finding Pony or Dallas themselves, I just didn't know.

God, I didn't know. I was so damn confused.

So I did the only thing I _could_ do, and that was comfort Sodapop. I put my arm around him, and rubbed his shoulders when his shakes would worsen. I let him lay his head on my shoulder and shushed him as he sobbed, and I didn't care when he turned over and cried in Darry's lap, because I would be here.

I would be here when he needed me, and I would be here when he didn't. I would be here, for Soda, even if he did something real bad, I would be here even if everyone else turned their backs on him.

Sodapop needed someone, and glory, I was going to be the one first in line to volunteer.

So as Sodapop wept, Two-bit stared, Darry sniffed, and I slumped, the wait began.

And none of us truly wanted to know what was going on behind those big "Trauma" doors where Ponyboy lay.

Because behind those doors, lay the answer we all have been waiting for.

Would Ponyboy, the fourteen year old who ran off into the starry night go cold? Die, surrounded by doctors, nurses, and possibly Dallas Winston? Or would his heart remain the warm, kind, beating thing it is? Would he live?

Yeah, that's the question of the night, isn't it.

XXXX

DALLY'S POV:

As soon as those doors to the ambulance shut behind me, blocking out the rest of the gang, every bit of anger I felt for that damn Sodapop vanished. Just swooshed down the drain, and was replaced with something unfamiliar; something I've only felt a couple times in my life.

Worry.

And, glory, I didn't like it. It made me want to scream right in that medic's face, it made me anxious, restless, like I couldn't even sit still.

The medic started hooking things up to Pony, who still wasn't moving. I swear, that guy should've let me be, giving CPR to Ponyboy. If I learned anything in New York, it was CPR, and I learned it pretty damn well.

 _I was only nine years old, and I was walking home with one of my buddies who was a year younger than me, and real, real small. I hadn't known him for long, he was a homeless kid who slept in a dirty homeless shelter, and I met him digging through my trash one night. He was lucky I caught him, and not my dad, my dad wouldn't hesitate to give the kid a black eye if he even walked by our driveway. All and all, I ended giving him some food I snuck from our fridge, and we became friends. He told me his name was David, but I had a funny feeling it wasn't his real name. He was a runaway, and any kind of smart runaway would know to change their name._

 _I don't know what I was thinking. It was a cold, windy night and I felt bad that the kid had to go and sleep in the rotten homeless shelter that was actually an abandoned lot where other homeless people slept. It wasn't exactly shelter, so as stupid as I was, I asked him to stay the night with me._

 _Like I said, I didn't know what I was thinking. My father wouldn't even let me stay there some nights, let alone one of my friends. Our house was small, dirty, and beaten up. The siding was more missing than it was there, and half of the windows were boarded up. I didn't stay there too often, my father was always drunk or high, and would beat me all the time, so most nights I stayed outside or at another friends. But for some reason, I thought bringing a friend home to stay under the same roof as my father would be a good idea._

 _David was hesitant about it. He saw the bruises on my face often, and I think he knew where they came from, but he still followed me. He didn't seem like he wanted to sleep in that homeless shelter on that cold night anyways._

 _We walked inside my house, and all the lights were off. I felt around for the light switch, and when I turned it on, he came into sight. My father, there he was, sprawled across the floor, beer bottles tipped over and scattered around, along with empty and filled syringes with something I didn't even know the name of._

 _David gasped, but I just stared down the sight of the man. I was thinking that I'd rather be homeless, rather be living on the streets than living with this guy I called my father. Some kids could always have sleepovers, some kids had parents that did everything for them, some kids actually had a family. Not me._

 _I didn't want to risk waking my dad, so me and David quickly started creeping to my room down the hall, but it was too late._

 _Before we could even step foot into the hallway, a grunt sound came from the living room, followed by loud, heavy footsteps. We were too late._

 _As soon as my dad came around the corner to face us, I instantly regretted even coming near the house with David. Glory, did I regret it._

 _"Now who do we have here?" He said, low and slurred._

 _"A friend, dad. He's uh, just a friend." I answered, shakily. David's breathing was quickened and I could tell he was scared._

 _"A friend, huh?" He said, leaning against the wall for support. "What were you and your_ friend _planning on doing in_ my _house?"_

 _"Nothing, dad, we were just-"_

 _"Heading out. We were just leaving, sir." David cut me off, and he spoke fast and shakily._

 _I nodded, and we both attempted at moving past my father, who had taken up the doorway. Unfortunately, he wouldn't let us leave, as a hard, rough hand came across David's chest to stop him. David practically jumped out of his shoes, but my father didn't care. Before I could react, another hand was on my chest, and both me and David were pushed up against the wall._

 _"Now, now, not so fast," My father spoke sternly._

 _"Please, dad...we weren't doing anything, I swear, we were just coming in to grab something."_

 _Dad's grip on me hardened, and it was hard not to let out a yelp. "Hush up boy, and listen to me."_

 _He nodded his head towards David. "You said you two is friends?"_

 _I nodded slightly. Big mistake._

 _"Answer me when I'm talking to you, boy!" He yelled. David was trembling like an earthquake, but this was nothing new for me._

 _"Yes sir, we're friends." I answered._

 _"You good friends?"_

 _"Y-yeah, I guess."_

 _"You guess?!" He yelled again. "You answer me with a yes, or a no!"_

 _"yes, sir. We're good friends. Real good friends."_

 _My dad's bloodshot eyes kept going back and fourth between David and me, and right then, I knew something bad was going to happen._

 _"That's good. Good friends do everything for each other. Would you do everything for the kid?"_

 _"Yes, sir, I would." I answered, remembering to answer clearly._

 _"That's good, son. Now you gotta remember, there's gonna be times where you're gonna have to do everything for your friend here."_

 _I didn't answer, but he continued on._

 _"There's gonna be times when you got to do everything you possibly can for im'." He slurred. "Cause that's what good friends are for, you dig?"_

 _"Y-yes sir, I dig."_

 _"Now you answer me again, boy, are you two good friends?"_

 _"Yes."_

 _"Prove it!" He screamed, making David jump again._

 _"Prove it, father?"_

 _"Prove it!" He hollered even louder, and then the next minute, he had David held by the front of his shirt, and threw him across the room. I gasped, and watched as my father stomped over to David's shaking form, and slung him across the room a second time._

 _Then, to my horror, my father started beating David. Punches followed punches, kicks followed kicks, he wouldn't stop. David was screaming and crying, and I worked up the courage to run over and try to pull my father off the eight year old, but it only resulted in me getting thrown across the room too. I thought it wasn't going to stop, I was sure it would go on forever, but then my dad started beating David's head off the floor. David was screaming louder than I ever thought possible, and then after one slam on the floor, followed by another, his screaming stopped._

 _Just stopped. Any sound, any movement coming from the boy stopped, and finally, my dad got up. He stomped over to a shocked, horrified me, grabbed me by the hair, and dragged me over to my friends limp body. He threw me on top of him, and I wanted to cry. Glory, I wanted to cry so bad, but I've lived long enough to know not to cry in front of my father._

 _"Prove it," He spat. "Save him. Give him mouth-to-mouth, boy. Save your_ friend _." I was shocked. What? I was only a kid! I didn't know how to do CPR, I didn't know how to save him!_

 _Dad must've seen my shock, so he started screaming instructions. He was screaming and screaming and demonstrating, and I was so overwhelmed I was ready to pass out._

 _Before I knew it, I was pressing down on David's unmoving chest, and blowing in his mouth._

 _I pushed and my father screamed, I blew and my father screamed. My father hollered at me more than he ever has in his life, and to say I was scared was an understatement._

 _After a horrifying, stressful, overwhelming twenty minutes, I felt a heartbeat underneath the homeless boy's chest. A small breath escaped his mouth, and I could've screamed for joy. What happened after was a blur. My father screamed and laughed, and screamed and laughed, and I ran to the phone, which I immediately dialed an ambulance. I told them I found an unconscious homeless boy in the street, beaten up, and brought him in my house. They said they were on their way, and the minute my dad realised what I had done, he was ready to murder me just like he almost had David._

 _I sat and watched as paramedics came and took David away, and as soon as the door was shut, then came the beating._

 _I was hit and kicked and shoved and thrown like David, but I stayed breathing. It was the worst beating I've ever been given by anyone, and the next day, we moved houses, not wanting to attract trouble with the police._

 _I'd never heard from David again._

I rubbed my eyes as the memory entered my mind. It wasn't something I was forgetting anytime soon, and I _know_ I could've saved Pony. I know it. Just like I saved David. Glory, I could've saved the kid. I couldn't save Johnny, but I could've saved Ponyboy. Those damn paramedics had to drag him in this vehicle to save him.

The medic finished hooking stuff up to Pony, and started writing stuff in a chart. He worked quickly, and professionally, but he acted as if Pony was just something to poke at, like he was just another paycheck. It pissed me off knowing he probably didn't feel any sympathy towards the kid, but I had enough sense to let him be. He had a job to do, and so help me god, he better do it. He better save Ponyboy.

"What's goin' on? How is he?" I asked. He didn't answer me, and even if he just didn't hear me, I was ready to clobber him. "Hey! I'm talkin' to you! How's the kid?" I yelled, and that definitely caught the guys attention.

"I've got him breathing again, but he's losing a lot of blood. _Too_ much blood."

"What do you mean, _too much blood?_ Can't you put more in him?" I asked sternly.

"He's losing it faster than we can replace it, I-.." He shakes his head as if he was changing his mind about continuing, and it only pissed me off more.

"You what? Give it to me straight. How. Is. He." I asked again.

"He's fading, fast. His heartrate is anything _but_ steady, and he's bleeding _everywhere._ That glass there, It looks like it stabbed right through this kid's left kidney, he'll need it removed...if he survives."

My breathing hitched. _No, no, NO. Shut up, Ponyboy's not gonna die, he's-...Ponyboy's not gonna die._

"What do you mean _if_ he survives?" I snapped.

"Son, you seen it yourself, his heart already stopped, it could be anytime for it stops again for good. That glass, I'm no mechanic, but that glass there is a shard of a headlight if I've seen one. My guess, this boy here has been hit by a car. You want me to tell you the truth?"

I took a minute to regain my breathing. Hit by a car? Christ almighty...

"Of course I want you to tell me the truth."

"Based on how everything looks right now, your friend here will be dead by sunrise." He said, not a hitch to be heard, like he just told someone his name.

I froze for a second, and all the anger rushed through me once again. It practically steamed from my ears, bled through my eyes.

I grabbed the paramedic by the collar of his shirt and pinned him violently back on the wall I was previously leaning on, knocking down some bottles and equipment on the shelves that scattered the place. He raised his hands up above his head, and grunted as his face came in contact with the hard wall.

"Hey! Son, what're you-" He started, but his voice only made his previous words run in my head again, and I fought the urge to strangle the guy.

I lifted him out from the wall, only to bang him against it again harder, and snarled as another grunt escaped his mouth.

"Now you listen to me," I growled. "My _friend_ there is _not_ goin' to die, you hear? By some time, he'll be up and prancin' around the track field like he does every Wednesday. He'll have his head in another book and he'll be comin' home with a report card of straight spankin' A's, you dig?"

He didn't speak, so I continued. "That kid on that table ain't dyin' today, not tomorrow, not _any_ time soon. Not on my watch. So you just keep it in mind that the only thing keepin' me from breakin' every god damn bone in your body is the fourteen year old kid lyin' in this ambulance with us, who just so happens to be in _your_ hands." I spat, and let go of him roughly.

He sighed, and returned over to Ponyboy, and started writing more stuff down, hooking up more cords, fiddling with that plastic mask on his face. I could tell I made him nervous, and I didn't feel an inch of guilt.

Because Ponyboy was _not_ going to die before he saw another sunrise, watched another sunset like he and Johnny used to do. Ponyboy Curtis wasn't dying before sunrise.

You could say the ambulance ride was pretty quiet after that.

XXXX

There ya go, chapter number seven. ;)

This one was pretty longer than last chapter, but I just had a lot of ideas for this one I guess.

Next chapter's POV's are planned to be Darry's and Two-bit's, so that's a little spoiler there.

Let me know how you liked Steve's first POV! I've never actually written anything in the POV of Steve, so it might be a bit odd, which I apologize for if that's the case.

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, followed, and even just read my story. It warms my heart.3

Until next time!


	8. Chapter 8

Sorry for the extended wait, exams will be the death of me, I swear. Anyways, here it is. As always, I own nothing.

 **TAKE CARE OF HIM JOHNNY CAKE - CHAPTER 8**

TWO-BIT'S POV:

I couldn't move. I couldn't speak, I couldn't breathe, _I couldn't move._ Not really. It was like I was trapped inside my own body, watching someone else control me. The minute I saw the lack of breathing coming from Ponyboy's limp form started it all.

I watched as Dallas gave the kid CPR, I watched as Sodapop broke down crying in the cold, wet alley, I watched as the ambulance came and took Ponyboy away as the commotion between Soda and Dally occurred, and I watched that ambulance speed off into the night, a dying fourteen year old in tow.

And that's what started it all. I realized Ponyboy was _dying._

I didn't need a doctor to tell me that, I didn't need _anyone_ to tell me that. Anyone who witnessed the events between 1:30 to 2:00 in the morning could figure that out themselves. Dally, Steve, and the rest of the gang, they knew it too. I know they knew it, deep down, but they kept pushing it away, pushing the _truth_ away, and replacing it with desperate hope.

Hope. It's all everyone was clinging onto, along with the thoughts of Ponyboy's sweet smile and his high-pitched laugh. I had hope too, somewhere balled up inside it was there, but anytime I tried to cling onto it, Pony's unmoving, injured form took over my mind. His crimson blood, flowing along the pavement took over my thoughts, along with the sight of his bruised, cut, and scraped body. Every time I tried to cling onto that much needed hope, those two words entered my mind again and I couldn't get them out.

 _Ponyboy's dying._

And to think, those two agonizing words wouldn't even exist if I had just taken ten more steps in the lot that day. If I had just reached out to him, _helped_ him when all he needed was a friend. All he needed was a friend, and I'm more than ashamed that I didn't even attempt to be one to him. Sure, we've all had it rough, but Pony's got it rougher. Ponyboy witnessed the events that happened a month ago. He felt the heat of the fire that took the life of Johnny Cade, heard the echo of the flat heart line coming from his limp form. Those two were the closest friends I've ever come to meeting. Sure, Soda and Steve were best buds, and we all knew they'd do anything for each other, but Pony and Johnny...they were just one of a kind, you dig?

Anytime Johnny would be hurting, whether it would be from the hand of his father, or just the pain in his heart, Ponyboy would _always_ be there, even more than Dallas used to with Johnny. You'd look in the lot everyday, and there they'd be, Ponyboy and Johnny, sitting together, staring at the sky or at the fire pit they'd make, sometimes not even talking. You'd swear those two had telepathy or something.

And anytime Ponyboy would be hurting, whether it would be from the hollers of Darry or the teases of socs, Johnny would be there. He'd have his arm around his shoulder, speaking softly and kindly to him, or of course not even saying a word. After a couple of hours with ol' Johnny Cade, Ponyboy would be back to the happy, daydreaming self like not a tear fell from his eye.

But then that night last month had to happen. Even as one of them took their last breath, those friends stayed together. As one was being drowned in the park fountain, struggling to break free, the other committed the crime of murder, just so his friend could see the earth another day. He didn't think about jail time, didn't think about the state and court houses, all he thought was his bestfriend needed his help, and he didn't hesitate one bit to be there. As one ran inside a burning church, the other ran behind, sticking together, even in the moments of great danger. As one lay hurting in the hospital bed, the other sat by and comforted him. As one lay dying, his breaths coming down to their last, the other stood close by, not letting his friend go without one last hand hold, one last smile, one last goodbye.

Through everything, Ponyboy and Johnny stuck together. When Johnny died, he took a piece of Ponyboy with him.

So even though I sat there in the hospital, thinking of how Ponyboy's breaths may be coming to their last, I realize Pony was _already dying._

 _Ponyboy's dying._

Ponyboy has been dying ever since that dark-skinned boy went limp in the hospital bed. Ponyboy's been dying ever since _Johnny Cade_ died.

All this time, Ponyboy has been dying, and I stood by and watched it happen. I stood by and watched the life drown out of those green-grey eyes, and I did nothing to stop it. Nothing.

But now, it's too late. It's too late because not only is Ponyboy dying emotionally, but those fatal injuries caused him to start dying physically.

So as I sat there, not saying a word as Sodapop leaned on Darry's shoulder sobbing, I wasn't sure I wanted the doctor to come and give us the news.

 _Ponyboy's dying._

Because I knew the truth. I knew the truth, and I've known if for a month now, but sadly, I just wouldn't look closer.

 _Ponyboy's dying._

I wouldn't look closer to see the truth beneath those sad green-grey eyes.

 _Ponyboy's dying._

I wouldn't do a thing as the sad boy walked the hallways of the school, swimming in his own thoughts, missing his caring, small bestfriend by his side.

 _Ponyboy's dying._

I wanted to make it up to him. Glory, I had to make it up to him someway. I'd learn that sweet little telepathic thing he used to do with Johnny. I'll get into books, I'll come over the Curtis's place everyday, hell, I'll even try to get bumped down to his grade, I just...I had to make it up to him.

 _Ponyboy's dying._

But no matter how much I promised to make it better, promised to _be_ better, the damage was done, and I couldn't stop it.

 _Ponyboy's dying._

Ponyboy, I swear, I'll be a better friend man, I'll be there for you, I promise. You've been dying, all this time, in front of all of us, but you can't die. Not now kid, you've got your full life ahead of you. Wife, kids, your own house, college and a nice job, come on Pone, you can't die, you got to hold on.

Hold on Pony, hold on.

But no matter how many times I secretly prayed for him to hold on, to not die, the guilt wrecked my body for my lack of actions the past month. Because what if it was already too late?

 _What if Ponyboy was already dead?_

XXXX

Every second lasted minutes, and every minute lasted hours.

I guess I started coming out of my vegetative state, because I slowly started becoming aware of what was happening. I already knew I guess, but now the emotions were coming hard, and I didn't have my shell to crawl into to hide from them. I had to face them, and I was finding it mighty hard.

I got real restless like Soda gets, and I couldn't keep still. I don't know how many cigarettes I smoked while we were waiting in that waiting room and honestly, I didn't care.

For a while, I was stuck between deciding if I wanted to hear what the doctor would say, or if I didn't, knowing already the chances of Ponyboy's survival was slim.

But then I twisted in my seat anxiously, and I made up my mind that yes, I most definitely did want to see that damn doctor. Every time the hands of the clock on the wall moved, I was sure I wasn't going to be able to wait any longer. But the hands moved again, and the strong apprehensiveness that flooded my veins got worse and worse.

So when Dallas walked through that door, you could say I was ready to strangle him for some information. Luckily though, I avoided my temptations.

Dally still had that cool, tough, uncaring look to him as he scanned the room, looking for any sign of us, but there was something different. Something unfamiliar to see in _his_ eyes. Distress? Anxiousness? Worry? I couldn't put my finger on it exactly, but one thing was for sure: if something was making Dallas Winston even slightly less tougher and meaner than his regular self, you best believe it was serious.

By the time his vibrant blue eyes managed to find the four of us, we were all already out of our seats and rushing over to him, Sodapop in the lead.

"Dal-Dally? Hey, what's goin' on? Ponyboy, is he-" Soda manages to get out as his voice shakes.

"Is he what? Hurt? Your damn right he's hurt, real bad too. But you would already know that, huh Soda?" Dally snaps, glaring at Sodapop, who is quiet taken back.

"Alright, cool it," Darry steps in. "Come sit down, we're makin' a scene."

We all return back to the area we were sitting at before, and everyone but Dally sits down, who stands facing us, running a hand over his face.

"Okay, spill Dal, what's goin' on with Pone?" I ask, ready to start yelling if I don't get any information soon.

He sighs, but speaks up clearly.

"Kid was hit with a car."

The breath swooshes out of my lungs, and by the looks on everyone else's face, theirs had too.

"A car? You're...sure?" Darry asks.

"No, I'm not _sure,_ but that glass that Ponyboy was stabbed with; a piece of an headlight. Now I wouldn't put it past those socs if they somehow found a shard of an headlight and stuck the kid with it, but the medic was pretty damn sure it was a car that did the damage."

Everyone is silent for a minute, until Steve speaks up, asking the question no one else could push themselves to ask.

"What exactly _is_ the damage?"

Another sigh from Dallas.

"He's alive, but he isn't exactly stable. His heartbeat wasn't too good, and he was loosin' a hell of a lot of blood. I mean a lot of it." He manages to get out, and finally takes a seat next to me in the hard chairs. "That's uh, that's all I know."

My mouth goes dry, and I let out a heavy gulp. Christ...I can't believe this is happening.

"You speak to the doc?" I managed to ask.

"Not really, bastard booted me out of where Pone was took in. The medic told me about how he was."

I nod slightly, and slump in my chair.

Darry and Sodapop were real quiet. Probably trying to process what was going on. Hell, even _I_ had a hard time processing it, let alone the kid's brothers. But then again, Ponyboy is like a brother to all of us; even Steve.

The tension worsened, and by then, we were all fidgeting in our chairs.

So you can say when a bald-headed man with a long white coat and a stethoscope came through those doors saying "family of Ponyboy Curtis," we were pretty anxious to speak to him.

Until we saw the look on his face. It was _t_ _hat_ look. The look that has the power to ruin someone's life, the look that has the power to break someone then and there. It was _that_ look that said it all. It was _that_ look that scared the living daylights out of everyone of us.

We all jumped up out of our seats and hurried over to the doctor, who had realized we were the ones here for Ponyboy.

"You're all family?" He asked, a serious tone in his voice.

Dallas instantly spoke up quickly. "Yes, them two's his brothers, we're his cousins." He said, gesturing to Sodapop and Darry, who nodded in return.

Honestly, I didn't care if the doctor believed we were his cousins or not, I wasn't leaving, and I could tell neither was Dally, or Steve, knowing that Soda was here. I was going to get some answers and I was going to see Ponyboy, even if that included me being chased by a bunch of doctors and nurses.

The doctor nodded skeptically. "My name is Dr. Johnson, I'm Ponyboy's doctor," he said, extending his hand to Darry, who was the one facing him. Darry shook it willingly, and waited for the big speech that was going to happen.

"Why don't you all follow me into my office, where we can speak more privately?"

That can't be a good sign. No way. If he was going to tell us something good, he wouldn't said it already, out in the open in the waiting room. He wouldn't bring us into his office unless it was something...bad. It's going to be bad, I know it. Glory, don't I know it. Reluctantly, we all follow Dr. Johnson down the hallway, and take a right into a small square room with a large desk scattered with folders and papers, and several chairs. We all take a seat as he closes the door quietly behind us, and takes his own seat behind the desk.

"Okay...I'm not the kind of doctor that sugarcoats thing, so I'm going to explain Ponyboy's condition very accurately and truthfully to you all."

I squirm in my chair, and attempt to get comfortable, but there's no getting comfortable when a doctor had just said that to you. None whatsoever.

"Is he...he isn't..." Sodapop stammers, his voice quiet and shaky.

"Oh, no, Ponyboy is alive. I assure you, your brother is not dead."

I let out a breath I didn't even realize I was holding in, and shut my eyes for a second to play over the words that were just heard.

 _Ponyboy isn't dead. He's alive. Pony's not dead._

"Well? What's wrong with him then?" Dally snaps, clearly impatient, which earns him a quick glare from Darry.

The doctor doesn't seem effected by Dallas's behaviour, and continues on.

"When your brother was admitted here by ambulance, I was aware that he had already went into cardiac arrest before paramedics even arrived. That, and the amount of blood loss already put Ponyboy into a very serious, fatal category. A fairly large piece of glass that was identified as a shard of a headlight on a vehicle was stabbed into Ponyboy's abdomen, and into his left kidney, resulting in me having to remove it in surgery. His-"

Sodapop started crying again, and interrupted Dr. Johnson.

"Surgery? What-when? How-" He stammered.

Darry put a hand on Soda's shoulder, and gently told him to be quiet. "Hush, Soda, let him continue."

The doctor softly nodded, and started speaking again.

"His right foot suffered a closed full foot fracture, completely fracturing the cuboid, navicular, and slightly the cuneiform and metatarsal bone. The fracture was so severe, it was almost pronounced as compound or open fracture."

"What the hell does that mean?" Dally snapped again.

"A compound fracture is a fracture when the bone snaps and pierces through the skin, making the bone visible. Ponyboy's fracture wasn't compound, it was inside his foot, but it was so severe than any other slight damage to it would probably result in it being compound." The doctor answered, unaffected.

Nobody spoke up, so the doctor continued.

"Ponyboy's chances of regaining use to the foot or walking without crutches are slim, and even if he can walk on it, he'll have a limp for the rest of his life."

"Wait, what about track? Can he...can he still run track? He loves track, he's real good at it to, can he-" Sodapop sniffs.

"I'm sorry, with the extent of the fracture, if your brother is able to walk on his foot, any type of extended intensive training and running wouldn't be an option."

Sodapop shakes his head somberly and sniffles.

We're all pretty shocked. I mean, Pony can't run track anymore? Track is... track is a part of Ponyboy, he loves it.

My heart sinks as I think of all the things that will cease to exist.

No more picking Pone up from track practise, no more complaints from Darry when Pony needed new running shows, no more competitions and no more of those shiny medals and trophies. No more colourful ribbons scattering the Curtis's fridge, nothing.

No more track.

That alone made me want to break down and bawl like Sodapop was about to.

Until Dr. Johnson opened his mouth again.

"That is, if he wakes up."

Soda practically fell out of his chair.

"What? What do you mean? No, you said- you said he was alive! You said he- you told- he's alive, what?" He choked out as tears ran down his face.

"Yes, young man, I did. Ponyboy lost roughly about two thirds of his body's blood. He coded twice during surgery, which means his heart had stopped again. From the extensive amount of blood loss and the trauma to the heart, Ponyboy's body couldn't handle it."

There were ringing in my ears, my hands were sweaty and my legs shook. My mouth quivered and I could barely form a sentence.

"W-what are you saying?" I managed to ask.

"I'm afraid Ponyboy has fallen into a coma."

XXXX

DARRY'S POV:

The task of standing upright was extremely difficult as Dr. Johnson led me, Soda, and Steve down a long hallway to Ponyboy's room. His words echoed in my head, torturing my insides with the greatest amount of pain someone could imagine.

 _I'm afraid Ponyboy has fallen into a coma._

A coma...a coma? God damn it, no, this wasn't supposed to happen. This was never supposed to happen. Ponyboy was supposed to have a life, go to college, get away...he was never supposed to be in a hospital bed, resting in a deep sleep, unable to be wakened. Glory, how did it come to this?

As soon as the doctors words reached our heads in his office, Dallas stormed out, not a sound from him. I had expected him to; Dally doesn't want to face his emotions, he doesn't want to deal with the fact that Ponyboy might never open his eyes again. He'll keep telling everyone he _will_ wake up, he's _not_ in a coma, he _is_ just sleeping, and anyone who says otherwise will probably get a punch to the face or an earful of insults because he just can't believe the reality, he _can't._

Two-bit didn't stay long either. Two-bit's different in that way. Two-bit doesn't refuse to except his emotions, he just isn't use to them. He's use to being the jokester, the happy, jolly, funny guy. Overwhelming sadness doesn't come easy to him, and when it does, he just doesn't _know_ how to handle them. Knowing Two-bit, he probably went to go find Dally as a distraction, or maybe even get drunk, but I know he won't be away from Ponyboy long. Those two had gotten real close after Johnny died, and I knew Two-bit probably felt real low after stopping hanging out with him now that he's in a hospital again. It isn't his fault, but try telling him that.

If it wasn't for Soda, Steve wouldn't be here either. I was real grateful that he was here to keep Soda standing during all this. Honestly, I wasn't sure I would do any good; I could barely keep it together myself. The others wouldn't see it that way, though. They saw a guy who never cried, never broke down, never felt sad. They saw superman, but right now, shoot, it was taking everything in me not to just stop and fall to the floor, crying.

As we reached the elevator, not a sound was said as the doctor hit the button with the number three and "Pediatrics" on it.

 _Pediatrics..._ hard to believe Ponyboy's just a kid. I mean, we all know he's a kid, hell, he's the baby of the group. Always have been, always will be, but you don't really realize that the guy who has been through so much, witnessed a murder, both parents dead, bestfriend died in front of him, spent five days living in an abandoned church, rescued a bunch of kids from a fire...you don't realize that that guy is just a fourteen year-old kid until your heading to the pediatrics ward of a hospital where he lay comatose.

Dr. Johnson and the three of us stepped out of the elevator and walked down a hallway scattered with younger and older kids, tired looking nurses and doctors, and parents of all emotions. Cartoons and rainbows were painted on the walls and to be honest, it worsened the mood of the hospital. Looking at the paintings reminded everyone that children were here, sick and unwell, some dying, some unable to wake up like Ponyboy. It reminded everyone that this is a place _children_ lay sick and dying, it reminded you that this is a place where some parents have to say goodbye to their _children_ for the last time, it reminded you that the rainbows and the cartoons painted on these walls have been the last thing that some _children_ have seen. I couldn't look at it any longer.

I tried to ready and brace myself for what was waiting for me behind Ponyboy's door, but _nothing_ could prepare me for what my eyes caught sight of as we stepped into room 314.

The room was a sickening white, sparse with two blue coloured chairs, a grey door to the bathroom, a table set with a vase of coloured roses, and of course, the bed where my baby brother lay deep in sleep.

The room was so clean that I felt out of place in it, like I would somehow ruin the shiny tiled floors or the whiteness of the walls.

But the only thing that was on my mind was the frail fourteen year-old boy lying in the blue blanketed hospital bed, hooked up to countless wires and machines, and his chest moving unnaturally as the whooshing sound of compressed air came from the large, white machine to his right.

It was nothing like I had expected; I had expected to see a dead-looking, pale as a ghost Ponyboy, covered in wires and machines.

What I saw though, was nothing like my predictions. There were wires and machines, yes, but they weren't as frightening and shocking as I had expected; a large mask covered his face, a cord came from his left hand and his forearm, and a few smaller cords came out from under the blankets. There were several machines scattered around the bed, most of them showing information that I didn't understand and a steady moving line. One I was familiar with, which made an annoying beeping sound as the line rose and fell across the screen. His heart monitor.

And Ponyboy, well Ponyboy wasn't dead-looking, wasn't pale as a ghost, he looked like...Ponyboy. He was pale of course, and you could tell he was sick, but if I didn't know any better, Ponyboy just had the flu, that my baby brother hadn't practically died three times in a day, hadn't lost roughly sixty percent of his blood, hadn't been hit by his big brother, then violently smashed into by a damn car.

If I didn't know any better, my little brother, who I had failed too many times, was just sleeping, ready to be tickled mercilessly to wake up, ready to eat a plate of breakfast and head off to school.

If I hadn't known any better, my little brother was sleeping, not a worry present.

But as Sodapop's sobs echoed through the room as he ran over to our little brother's bedside, I knew my brother wasn't just sleeping, my brother was _dying._

Dr. Johnson started saying something about how he was going to insert a feeding tube tomorrow, just in case he would wake up by then, even if the chances were little to none. But I wasn't listening. All that I could think about was the boy in the bed in front of me.

Soda was crying so hard I thought he would make himself sick. Steve must've too, because he started shushing him and telling him to sit down, as he pulled up one of the blue chairs in the corner.

He agreed to sit, but it didn't lessen his crying. He sobbed, and sobbed, and sobbed, and he started whispering to Pony.

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry...I'm so sorry...I'm so sorry...I didn't mean it Pone, I didn't mean any of it..."

Steve just rubbed Soda's back and stayed quiet, and I finally made my way over to Pony's other side.

Sodapop rested his head on Pony's hand that he held, and I held the other one. I started rubbing his hair out of his face, and took everything in me not to start bawling then and there.

I pulled up the chair, and continued what I was doing as Sodapop continued to cry and beg Ponyboy to wake up.

"Common baby, open them pretty green eyes for me, hey? You got to wake up Pony, you just got too..."

I don't know how long we stayed like that and frankly, I didn't care one bit. I'd sit here for days if that meant Ponyboy would wake up, and I didn't even have to think to know Sodapop would.

At one moment, Soda stopped crying, and all that could be heard from him was soft, wet sniffles. A nurse had brought in another chair for Steve, who sat by Soda, still rubbing his back comfortingly.

I stared at Pony's young looking face, which was scattered with several cuts and bruises, some with stiches, some little bandages. I listened to the air swooshing in and out of the machine next to me, and the soft beeping sound of the heart monitor beside me too. I looked at Ponyboy's small, frail hands, and the golden peach colour of his skin. I looked at his long, brown eyelashes and his dark, slightly curved eyebrows.

As he lay there unmoving, I noticed things I never had before. I noticed how his jawline were the same as Soda's, his small, pointed nose and his small round lips were the same as our mother's, his natural hairline was the same as mine, and the freckles that scattered his nose and slightly on his cheekbones were the same as our father's.

I noticed how I might never that jawline so similar to Soda's covered in shaving cream for the first time as Pony would start shaving, probably laughing and nicking himself all the way through.

I noticed that I might never see his small pointed nose wrinkle up in disgust as Soda's turn for cooking dinner would come again, and the smell of pink burgers dipped in tomato sauce would fill the room.

I noticed that I might never see his small round lips break into that heart warming smile or that joyful high-pitched laugh would escape from them.

I noticed that I might never see his hairline almost identical to mine smoothed back so cleanly for his wedding like I always imagined he would.

I noticed that I might never see him attempting to count his freckles in the bathroom mirror out of boredom, usually giving up and going to read a book over again.

I might never see those bright green-grey eyes of his light up at the sight of a new Paul Newman movie.

I might feel his soft, tight hugs he gives sometimes.

I might never hear his and Soda's quiet conversations in the night through our extremely thin walls.

I might never smell Soda's soft cologne on him some days when he tries to sneak some secretly.

I might never taste his fried eggs and extra chocolate cake in the mornings when he gets up first.

I might never see _Ponyboy_ again. And that was enough to kill me, right on the spot.

So I looked at his closed, long lashed eyes once more, leaned in to kiss his forehead with the hairline similar to mine, and I whispered not to him, not to myself, not to anyone in the room, but to the sixteen year old boy who was once the one in the hospital bed, once the boy who lay hooked up to machines and ventilators, once the boy who was a best friend to Ponyboy.

I whispered to Johnny.

"Take care of him, Johnny Cake."

XXXX

Thank you, so much for reading.

The reviews are amazing you guys, I can't express my feelings enough...I'm completely wowed, and so, so, grateful.

You guys are the reason I continue this story. You guys are the reason I just spent a whole day writing instead of studying for exams, but I wouldn't have it any other way, because you guys are amazing.

Thank you, really.


	9. Chapter 9

Welcome back!

Gratefully, I already have three of my exams done, and my last one is this Monday folks, so even though I probably won't get much writing done this weekend, after Monday I'm hoping chapters will be released more frequently from then on!

 **TAKE CARE OF HIM JOHNNY CAKE - CHAPTER 9**

SODAPOP'S POV:

The ride to work was a harsh silence.

Darry drove, looking straight ahead, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. I kept throwing glances at him from my seat, making sure he was alright. But who am I kidding, none of us are alright, not even the powerful Superman.

The past week has been...golly, I don't have any words to describe it.

A week since Ponyboy fell into that damn coma.

A week since I watched the ambulance carry his limp body to the hospital.

A week since I broke down at the sight of Dallas Winston giving him CPR because he had _died._

A week since the gang searched high and low through the neighborhood while I stayed hopelessly waiting, _hoping_ he would come home.

A week since I screamed at him from the top of my lungs.

A week since... a week since I hit him. A week since _I_ drove him away.

I got real nauseous and was almost ready to tell Darry to pull over when I realized we were already at the DX. The truck was stopped, and I managed to settle my stomach as I took deep breaths.

I looked over at Darry once more who was still staring straight ahead, knuckles white on the wheel, and sitting straight upright. I sighed, this wasn't easy on any of us, especially what happened this morning.

"Darry..." I spoke up, with a tone that said _talk to me man._

"No, Sodapop, just no. The damn fuzz, they- ...they know somethin', they _know_ who hit Pony."

"You don't know that, Dar." I replied glumly. "They could've closed his case because there was nothin' to be found."

To be honest, I didn't believe that. When the cops showed up at our door this morning, saying Ponyboy's case was officially closed even only about a week since it was opened, I practically had to claw Darry of them. He probably would've gotten himself hauled in, and that's another thing we wouldn't be able to handle. But either way, I knew the fuzz just gave up on the case because Pone was a greaser. If it was a soc in the coma, there'd be police roaming every inch of the street, looking for the culprit, which was usually blamed on another greaser.

It made me pissed, but I didn't expect the police to do much anyways. They never do. Really, it didn't matter much to me, I knew I was the real reason Ponyboy was lying in a hospital, not moving and breathing from a machine. Not some car, not some other guy or soc, _me._ The police might as well call me the culprit...I am after all, and it hurts like hell.

"Hush up, Soda, you and I both know the cops don't give a damn about us greasers, Pony included." He snapped, finally looking me in the eye.

I didn't know what else to say. I knew he was right, but if I admitted it, Darry will sure go down to the police station and start hollering.

"Yeah, maybe so, but I also know if the court and everythin' gets involved, so will the state, Darry. They can take me and Pony away in a second, just like that, and that ain't happenin'. It ain't." I stammered.

Darry sighed. "No it ain't little buddy, no it ain't. I just want to find who's responsible for this is all."

My breathing hitched, and before I knew it a tear was falling out of my eye. "I am. I'm responsible."

Darry looked at me sympathetically. "You can't keep beating yourself up over this, Sodapop."

"Why? You should understand how I'm feeling, I'm not the only one who hit him!" I snapped, and quickly covered my mouth as Darry's features drooped with sadness. "Aw, Darry, you know I didn't mean it like that."

"Yeah, yeah you did." He sighed once again. "I'll pick you up at seven, 'kay?"

"Okay," I replied, and glumly stepped out of the truck and headed towards the convenience store.

I watched as Darry drove away and the overwhelming nausea returned once again.

Today was another day he hasn't woken up.

Today was another day I had to tiredly work while he lay in the hospital bed.

Today was another day I had to live with the guilt of what I had done, and for the rest of my days that guilt would follow me.

Today was another day Darry would pick me up after my shift, and we would go to the hospital where he sleep.

Today was another day that Steve was clocking in extra hours, thinking that I didn't realize what he was doing.

Today was another day his side of the bed lay cold.

Today was another day he wouldn't be trotting home from school, lugging tons of books that needed studying.

Today was another day his track shoes lay untouched, and would be so for the rest of his days.

Today was another day my baby brother Ponyboy lay comatose, in a hospital he never liked in the least, swarming in his dreams that not even I could wake him up for.

The small breakfast Darry had cooked up this morning found its way up into my throat, and I couldn't hold back as I threw up violently on the ground in front of me, using one arm to support my weight on the store's wall, right at the moment Steve came outside the door.

He quickly ran over to me as I spit up the remaining bitter tasting bile in my mouth.

"Pretty harsh way to start off a day, huh buddy?" He asked, softly, and playfully, but I could tell there was worry present.

I shakily sighed, and he pulled a yellow handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to me. I accepted it softly, and wiped my mouth and neck which dripped of bile and sweat. He took the handkerchief back, and threw it in the garbage nearby before returning back to me.

He slipped his hand around my waist and held my arm over his shoulder as he helped my trembling body inside, and he managed to plop me down on one of the two chairs behind the check-out desk.

I leaned back tiredly in my chair as Steve left for a minute, and returned with a bottle of water, which he quickly opened and handed it to me. I downed almost half of it, not caring if it would make me sick again, and Steve was looking at me worriedly.

"You need an Aspirin, Soda? You got a headache or anythin'?"

I shook my head quietly, and he pulled up the other chair next to mine.

We were both silent for a minute, not even a customer came in, and Steve was still giving me glances when he thought I wasn't looking. I probably looked like hell, but for once, I didn't have one care about my looks, not one in the world.

Steve got up from his chair, and knelt down in front of me, staring at me sympathetically.

"You okay, Sodapop?"

I sighed. No, I am most definitely not okay. I'm anything _but_ okay.

I'll be okay when Ponyboy is home in bed, safely wrapped up in my arms, and snuggling warm in his blankets like before I told him to move into his own room. Not in some cold, stiff hospital bed surrounded by doctors and nurses and not even being able to wake up.

I'll be okay when during lunch hours Ponyboy could be seen coming over to the DX with Steve and Two-bit, asking for a bottle of Pepsi and a smoke.

I'll be okay when I come home from work and Ponyboy is sprawled across the couch reading another book or watching TV.

I'll be okay when Ponyboy is out of that damn coma.

So no, I'm not okay. Not now.

I look up at Steve, who still waits for an answer, and I sigh. I just want to be at the hospital with Pone, sitting in that chair keeping him company anyway I can. Not here, where the stink of sweat and gasoline fills the store and annoying customers line the counter.

"I ain't okay, Steve." I manage to get out. "You know I ain't."

He looks down for a second and nods before returning back to those sympathetic eyes.

"I know buddy, I know." He pats my shoulder comfortingly before getting up and trotting outside to the gas pumps.

And if I didn't know any better, I could have sworn the words "I ain't either" came out of his mouth before closing the door behind him.

XXXX

Me and Darry didn't speak much in the hospital.

The routine for us now was get up, work, go to the hospital with Pony for a while, then go home. The next morning, we'd do it all again, hoping that maybe _this_ is the day that our little brother wakes up. Hoping that _this_ is the day we'd get to see his pretty green-grey eyes again.

But every day, his pretty eyes remained closed, and the hope that we cling onto everyday lessens.

The doctor had told us that every day that passes that Ponyboy doesn't wake up, the less his chances are of _ever_ waking up.

His words keep coming through my head all the time and each day that passes without those blinking green-grey eyes or that high-pitched cheerful laugh coming from his mouth, I want to crawl up and scream.

I don't know how Darry's been keeping his cool. From the looks of him, he's still sure Pone's going to wake up any minute now. Me, on the other hand, my hope and positivity keeps sinking away every second Pony stays comatose.

I would usually spend the time in the hospital talking away to Pony, telling him about the weather, about the day we've been having, and the annoying customers at work. I try to stay away from the topic about what I had done to make him run away; the first time we saw him lying in that hospital bed I wouldn't stop saying sorry, wouldn't stop apologizing. But I knew it made no difference. Sorry wouldn't make up for the things I said, what I done to him. Nothing would make up for that, and if Pony could hear me, I know the last thing he'd want is being reminded of that damn night. So I would make small talk with him, talk about the recent episodes of Mickey Mouse, talk about the groceries that lack in the house.

The doctor had also said that talking might help pull him out of the coma. You'd better believe I talked then. I rambled on endlessly day after day, refusing to stop. I'd wear out my lungs if that meant my brother would wake up.

But like I said, my hope was draining after each day that passed, and each day I talked more somberly and less, and I began to wonder if it was making any difference at all.

But today, I didn't say a word, and neither did Darry.

We both looked at our little brother, lying sickly straight in the perfectly made, blue sheeted hospital bed, and we think about how it's only been a week since Ponyboy's went into that coma, and we're already falling apart.

The gang started falling apart when Johnny died, I know that, but now, golly, now we were hanging on by weak threads. We were crumbling, day by day we were breaking, and I feared that those days would continue, and Ponyboy would never wake up.

 _Never,_ such a short word for such a long time not seeing Pony's face light up as he read a book.

Such a short word for such a long time not hearing his soft snores in the morning as I would get up for work.

Such a short word for such a long time not seeing him race across the finish line on the track field, pure happiness rushing through his body as he took the lead in front of all the other runners.

Such a short word for such a long time not seeing him deep in concentration at the table doing his homework.

Such a short word for such a long time not hearing his soft hums along to the radio.

 _Never,_ such a short word for the agonizingly long amount of time that will pass that I won't ever be able to hold my baby brother again as he would hold me back. That I won't ever wake up to him frying eggs the exact way we all like them; his hard, Dar's in a sandwich, and mine with jelly. That I won't ever be able to see _Ponyboy_ again.

I push the word _never_ away and replace it with the hope even if it wears thin, but more than once the word returns to my mind, and I think about what if Pony actually will _never_ wake up.

Which is why I stayed quiet as the only sound filling the silence is his steadily beeping heart monitor. I stayed quiet because once again, the word had slipped into my mind, and all I could do is stare at my little brothers unmoving face and the plastic mask that covered his mouth.

I held one hand, and Darry had his other, and before we knew it, visiting hours were over, and a nurse ushered us out the door.

It was dark out as we drove home, and once again, there was silence. Darry was no longer sitting uncomfortably straight with his knuckles grasping the steering wheel forcefully; now he was slightly slumped over, and where his strong, confident eyes usually sit, there were sad, droopy ones and I wondered if maybe the word _never_ entered his mind too.

I sniffed. "Dar? Do you...do you think he'll ever wake up?"

I was expecting a quick, harsh " _Yes, Sodapop of course he'll wake up, stop thinking like that."_ But instead he let out a long sigh, and kept his sad eyes on the road.

"I don't know Pepsi-Cola," He started. "I don't know."

XXXX

PONYBOY'S POV:

As my eyes opened, I was staring up at the bright, beautiful stars in the dark night sky. A slightly cool breeze struck my bare arms, and it brought me out of my hypnotized trance the many stars had put me in as I rubbed my goose bumped covered arms with my hands.

A strange crackling came to my ears and I turned my head toward the noise, where I saw a familiar fire pit, filled with wood and flames grabbing at the sky.

I moved my head in the other direction, and I knew I was most definitely in the lot.

 _How did I end up here?_ I wondered.

Last thing I remembered was...Dallas? I clamped my eyes shut, trying to put together all the jumbled, partially missing memories that scattered my brain, but it was no use. Bits and pieces of random scenes filled my mind; The stars, just like the ones I stare upon now, but in different order, a broken mirror, shards of glass surrounding the frame, which I unmistakably recognize as my mothers, and random words and sentences of no other than members of the gang's voices fill my mind's ears.

I shake my head to try to overcome the migraine that managed to make it's way into my head from the useless attempts to put my puzzled memories back together.

I manage to sit up from the wind blowing grass, and rub my eyes, annoyed that I had couldn't figure out why I was here. One things for sure: Darry was probably going to kill me.

I shivered as clear memories of what happened last time I woke up in the lot ushered through my mind.

But as I started to stand, and make my way home to an expectantly angry Darry and worried Sodapop, a soft, quiet, familiar voice came from behind me.

"It's about time you got up, Pone."

I snapped my head towards the voice, and my breath caught in my throat. My mouth went dry, and my eyes were widely opened, as I felt shocked tears threaten to fall from my eyes.

There, staring back at me, leaning against the rusty, beaten up car, sat a small, dark skinned sixteen year-old boy, smiling a soft, sweet, joyful smile and his brown eyes kind. His long, heavily greased black hair hung across his forehead, and his hands rest inside his collared jean jacket, his feat crossed on the grass.

I brought my hand over my mouth, and held in the sob that threatened to come out, as I stared at the dark skinned, smiling boy.

"Johnny Cake?"

XXXX

This chapter was kind of shorter than my usual ones, I know, but this was kind of a filler chapter, and to introduce our new character, who is no other than the loving Johnny Cade. ;)

Please let me know how you liked the chapter, and again, I apologize this one's shorter than I'm usually used to.


	10. Chapter 10

And here's chapter 10! Hope you all enjoy the chapter, and let me know how you feel about Johnny! You guys know I don't own anything.

 **TAKE CARE OF HIM JOHNNY CAKE - CHAPTER 10**

PONYBOY'S POV:

"Johnny Cake?"

The gears inside my head were spinning like crazy, and I had to squint at the boy in front of me to make sure I was seeing him correctly.

 _No...this couldn't be Johnny. This wasn't Johnny. Was it?_

The boy wouldn't stop grinning that familiar grin. I would know that smile anywhere. It wasn't cocky, nor arrogant or sarcastic, but it was unforgettably kind and warm. It was a small smile, but if you ever got a chance to see it, it was as if the smile was as big as Texas. It was _his_ grin. It was _Johnny's_ grin.

 _Could it really be him?_

He stood up gently, and continued to look me directly in the eyes; something he never could do when he was... _with us._

"Hey Ponyboy," He greeted softly.

I stared at him for a second, my mouth unable to close, and I recognized the black banged hair, the big brown eyes, the collared jean jacket...I recognized _him._ It was Johnny. I _knew_ it was Johnny, and I couldn't hold in the tears any longer as a sob escaped my mouth, and I bolted into his small, comforting arms.

He chuckled softly, and returned the hug that I wasn't planning on breaking anytime soon.

"Golly Johnny, I've missed you so much.." I sobbed, and I would probably feel bad for getting his jacket full of tears if I wasn't such an emotional wreck.

"I missed you too man," He started. "I missed you too."

We eventually separated, and he patted my shoulder comfortingly.

I suddenly realized the craziness of the situation. I mean, where was I? What was going on?

"But," I sniffed. "How?"

"That's a long story, Pone. Common, we gotta go somewhere, you'll get answers there."

That just made me even more confused. Shoot, my brain was already going to explode; I was here seeing Johnny Cake, but I couldn't remember a thing.

"What? Where? What about Darry? And Soda? Wh-"

Questions continuously flowed from my lips until I blinked my eyes, and the moment I reopened my eyes, we were in a familiar, personally hated place.

The hospital.

Nurses and doctors flooded the halls, speeding past me and Johnny at different speeds. Although one thing caught my eye, and that was that not _one_ of them looked at either of us. They just stared down at the binders and papers they were holding, or they just looked ahead as they walked. It was strange to say the least; I mean, who _wouldn't_ stare at two greaser boys who just somehow magically poofed into the halls?

"Wait, what? Where- we were just- the lot, we were- what?" I stammered.

Johnny didn't answer, he just started down the hall. I followed him down the rainbow painted walls, which obviously meant we were in pediatrics. I've been here a couple times with a nasty flu bug or something; when Johnny... _died_ he wasn't in here. I don't know why, he was just put in the ICU. I mean, he was sixteen, technically he was still a kid, but there were no rainbows and cartoons where he died. I don't know if that made the situation worse, or better. Either way, I still hate to think about that night.

After a minute or so of walking down the colourful halls and past the oblivious staff, Johnny halted to a stop in front of a closed door with the numbers 314 on it.

He took a deep breath and glanced over at me for a second, but before I could ask him what was the hold up, the door handle was turned and door number 314 drifted open, revealing an unconscious, masked, half blonde, half auburn headed boy lying in the hospital bed.

That unconscious, masked, half blonde, half auburn headed boy was me.

I was looking at _myself_ , lying in that hospital bed, and suddenly all the scrambled memories that scattered my mind started coming together in one overwhelming wave. I clutched at my temples and leaned against the wall as I think Johnny shut the door.

All the memories came together as one finished puzzle.

The breakdown in the lot.

The failed test.

Darry's screams and rumble of the truck's engine as he sped off to Will Roger's high school.

The birthday letter from Sandy.

The screams from Sodapop...golly, the things he said made my heart twist in and out.

The harshness and pain from his fist as it roughly collided with my face.

The crash of our mother's mirror as it slammed down onto the floor.

The pavement under my running feet.

The mesmerizing stars as they twinkled brightly in the sky.

The painful crunch and screeching tires as I flew in the air and landed violently onto the hard pavement again.

The socs, dragging me off into the alley.

Dally, speaking to me without the cold, toughness present in his face.

Then the horrible darkness that took over my body as Dally's face drifted from my vision.

When the agonizing headache was in the past, I couldn't stop the tears as they flooded down my cheeks. I started pacing, and my breaths became short and quick. I was ready to pass out, and Johnny probably knew, because he started rubbing my shoulders and shushing me comfortingly.

I slid down the wall as the tears continued, and Johnny sat down with me.

We sat there for a good ten minutes before I finally got my breathing controlled and was able to speak. I had so many questions; so many things that I was afraid to know the answers to, but one question stood out from the rest.

"Johnny," I started. "Am I... _dead?_ "

I watched him intently as he sighed and answered quietly.

"No. You're not dead Pony."

I clamped my eyes shut in what I expected to be relief. I mean, I've never wanted to die. Golly, I've been depressed I guess but never _suicidal._ I couldn't stand the thought of how the rest of the gang would feel if I had killed myself, especially Darry and Soda. It'd hurt them real bad. Besides, I'm only fourteen. I ain't seen the world yet, ain't been out of Tulsa besides Windrixville and that didn't count in my mind. I haven't had a girlfriend, haven't gotten married, haven't had the chance to have kids, haven't went to college; shoot, I haven't even graduated yet. Fourteen years wasn't long enough and I thought I wasn't ready to die.

But the sprinkle of disappointment that fled through me as Johnny's words entered my ears didn't go unnoticed by me.

I was scared, worried, _dreading_ that I'd have to face everybody again. Dreading that I'd have to face Sodapop again.

Soda's words echoed through my mind and I had to take deep breaths to stop myself from freaking out again.

" _You gotta ruin everything, don't you?!"_ His angry voice screamed at me from my mind.

" _You know what I mean, Pony. Johnny? That's on you."_

 _"You had to run away that night, didn't you? Had to go find Johnny and kill that soc kid, had to run off, even if you knew you would kill me and Darry for it!"_

 _"Now look what's happened to the gang. We're all broken apart. And there's always someone to blame."_

 _"You can't stop, can you?"_

 _"You don't care about nothin'. No wonder Sandy left."_

I continued to attempt to steady my breathing, but nothing could be done as the memory of the harsh twist of my wrist, and the painful hit to the face flashed through my mind, making another tear gently glide down my face.

Johnny was aware of my silent internal struggle, but he didn't say anything. He just continued to sit by me like the times me and him would sit in the lot, and that was comfort enough.

"Johnny?" I croaked.

"Yeah Ponyboy?" He looked at me sympathetically.

"If I ain't dead, what's goin' on with me?"

Johnny sighed. "You gotta choose, Pone."

I looked at him confusingly, but deep down, I knew what he meant. I knew what the word _choose_ meant and I sure wasn't ready to be doing it.

"You gotta chose." He said again, and I knew he was aware that I knew what he meant. "You can choose to stay here, with me, walking around where no one sees us until the time comes where we can move onto where your parents are, away from the world, away from the gang, away from your _brothers,_ or you can go back. You can go back to watchin' sunsets and readin' books, you can go back to school, back to Sodapop's colourful cooking and Two-bit's Mickey sessions, back to your _life."_

My jaw dropped a little. Glory, that's the most I've _ever_ heard Johnny talk. He stared at me for a second, and even though his way of putting it was much more detailed, I knew he was just telling me I had to choose to die, or live.

If you would have asked me that a month ago, my answer would automatically be to live. I wouldn't even have to consider death, glory I wouldn't even second guess myself after making the decision. I would have chosen life right on the dot.

But that was a month ago. Now, as much as I told myself living my life was the right decision, there was a part of me that wanted to die.

There was a part of me that remembered Johnny wouldn't be able to live; Johnny would still be dead. I thought of all the nights at the nightly double alone, Johnny missing beside me. I thought of all the nights I went to the lot when I was sad, and Johnny wasn't there to cheer me up. I thought of all the times I went to his grave and cried until there were no tears left to be cried, and trotted home.

There was a part of me that remembered all the times Dallas drunkenly passed our house, not once bothering to come and say hello. I thought of all the times Dally ignored me as I greeted him, a cigarette and a beer in his hands. I remembered all the times I saw him coming from bucks, drunk and beaten up, probably from a gang fight, and trotting angrily down the road, unlike the times he would bunk out at our place and play cards with the gang.

There was a part of me that remembered all the silent glares from Steve, and the shrinking amount of times he would come to our house with Sodapop. I thought of all the times Steve would pass me in school, not even looking at me as I said hello. I remembered all the times I saw his car bolt out of the school parking lot the minute I walked out the door, probably thinking I wanted a ride home.

There was a part of me that remembered all the pitied stares from Two-bit. I thought of all the times he wouldn't crack those annoying jokes, all the times he stopped smiling and goofing around. I thought of all the times I watched his car drive past the house, never bothering to stop anymore. I thought of all the times he'd pass me in the halls, and all he would give me was a sympathetic smile.

There was a part of me that remembered all the screams from Darry. I thought of all the times he would ground me for getting an A- on a test, and all the times he would annoyingly ignore me whenever I did something so small. I thought of all the times he would holler at me when I was five minutes passed curfew, usually coming home from Johnny's grave. I thought of all the times he would give me looks the morning after a bad nightmare I had because of waking him up.

There was a part of me that remembered losing Sodapop. I thought of all the times the stench of alcohol came from his breath. I thought of all the times he would glare at me too whenever I had a nightmare. I thought of all the mornings I woke up and Sodapop wasn't by my side, and my two brothers wouldn't tickle me awake like they used to. I thought of all the times Soda wouldn't stand up for me anymore whenever Darry yelled at me. I remembered the words he said to me and the pain of his hit. I remembered the agony of watching my big brother slip away, and be replaced with an angry, unloving seventeen year old.

There was a part of me that _didn't_ want to live, because the thought of returning to the painful days without the gang and my brothers was hard to even think about.

I had no idea what to do.

Mostly everyone would tell me life is the only option. They would say no one should die at the age of fourteen, and that I had a full life ahead of me. Sure, there were so many things I wish I could do that I would never get the chance to if I died, but no one understood the misery I had to withstand day to day since my best buddy died. No one could understand how hard it was to keep standing all the time through it all.

So I even _if_ I decided to live, I wondered if any of what I had to deal with would change.

I wondered if the old, tough, but soft-centered Dallas would return, coming into the house after a fight with Tim Shephard and flop down on our couch, chatting with the gang. I wondered if I'd ever see him enter our door anymore other than Buck's.

I wondered if I'd ever hear Steve and Sodapop's laughs as they entered the front door coming home from work. I wondered if Steve would ever even _talk_ to me again, instead of giving me glares and weird looks. I wondered if I'd ever come home from school to see him and Soda arm wrestling at the table, and cheating their way through a game of poker.

I wondered if I'd ever hear another one of Two-bit's stupid jokes that I couldn't help but smile at. I wondered if I'd ever hear his rickety car coming into the driveway, and a minute later he would come through the door, a pack of beer under his arm, coming to watch Mickey Mouse. I wondered if he'd ever rough house or laugh with me like he used to instead of giving me sorry looks in the school's hallway.

I wondered if I'd ever be able to sit and talk to Darry for a day without any screaming. I wondered if he'd ever try to understand what I'd been going through instead of always getting mad at me. I wondered if Darry would ever take us down to the lake on those hotter days like he used to, always packing a lunch to barbeque there. I wondered if I'd ever feel his strong arms wrap around me in a hug instead of watching them flail in the air in anger.

I wondered if I would ever feel Soda crawl into bed and pull me close to him in the night again. I wondered if I'd ever hear his soothing voice and feel his comforting arms around me whenever I had a nightmare. I wondered if I'd ever hear his cheerful singing along to the radio, and see his room empty of beer bottles and cans. I wondered if I'd ever walk to the DX again after school to be greeted by his heartwarming smile as he would ask me about my day. I wondered if I'd ever come home to a plate of purple spaghetti or blue potatoes. I wondered if I'd ever get my big brother back.

But I wasn't sure that I would get _any_ of what I wondered if I chose to live, and the thought of returning to the broken up gang I once would consider family was just too painful to even think about.

Johnny could probably tell I wasn't taking any of this well, so he threw his small arm over my shoulder, and hugged me to him gently.

I sighed, and clenched my eyes shut to stop from crying.

I laid my head on Johnny's shoulder, and manage to smile, despite all the emotions overflowing inside me. Because sure, I'd have to choose. One point or another, I'd have to choose to face the gang again, or leave my life for my parents and my best friend. It was a choice that wasn't one bit easy, but I'd have to make it.

I didn't know what to do. I wanted to cry, and cry, and cry and just let someone else make the decision but I knew I was the one who had to.

But despite the sorrow and despair that wrecked my insides, I smiled, because I had my head leaned on Johnny's shoulder.

I don't know how long we sat there, but I could sit there for days. Because every day for the past month, I wanted one more hug, one more word, one more smile with my best buddy.

And now I finally did, even if it might not last long.

Now I finally had the one thing I wished for since the rumble.

I had Johnny Cake.

XXXX

DALLY'S POV:

Buck kicked me out again.

I started yelling at everyone and starting fights, looking for any bit of information anyone had on what happened to Ponyboy. If that started a fuss, so be it. I wanted to know who the hell hit Pony with their damn car and I was sure as hell going to find out, even if that meant being kicked out of the only place I could spend the night in.

The Curtis's wasn't an option. Definitely not. It's been a week since Pone went into that coma and I haven't spoken to Sodapop once. We've looked at each other a few times, me doing the glaring and him doing the sad stare, but I knew if I opened my mouth, I wouldn't be able to control what would come out. Shoot, that was just _talking_ to him. I didn't know what I could be capable of if I slept over his house. I'd rather sleep in the lot, or possibly Two-bit's. But I don't think Ms. Matthews or Two-bit's little sis like me all that well, even if Two-bit say's otherwise. I wouldn't blame them, they both know my records and habits, I'm surprised Darry lets me stay over his place.

I leaned against the brick wall of Buck's place, listening to the blaring music and loud voices coming from inside, and I started thinking of possible theories about who the hell had the right mind to hit and run Ponyboy.

I mean, sure, hitting anyone ain't no picnic for you either, nobody wants to get hauled in by the fuzz and put in jail for it. That's why people drive off, scared of the consequences, but shoot, the kid's just a kid. Greaser or not, Pony's a fourteen year old scrawny kid who could pass for twelve years old if you didn't get a good look at him. Anybody in their right mind would check on the kid, phone an ambulance as an anonymous, take the kid home, something. Nobody could hit a kid like Ponyboy and have the gut to leave him there.

But I knew some people who would.

The socs.

The no good, trashy, west-side, greaser-beating, snotty, Madras wearing socs, who I know would leave Ponyboy bleeding in the streets without a second thought. So I knew those were the ones who hit Ponyboy. I knew it.

If only there weren't so damn many of them.

I sighed, and lit another cigarette, and snapping out of my thoughts as the door to Buck's swung open, trotting over a semi-drunk, curious looking Two-bit. His eyes met mine, and he darted over to me as I took a long drag on my cigarette.

"Seen you get kicked out again." He started. "What's that, like the third time this week?"

I scoffed, and ran a hand over my chin. "What're you doin' out here?"

"Ah, parties are never the same without Dallas Winston. Figured I'd high tail it out of there and find you." He looked down at his feet. "Thinkin' of goin' to see Pony."

I nodded slightly, and puffed smoke out of my mouth.

"You wanna come?"

I shook my head, and put out my cigarette, throwing the butt on the ground and stamping on it. I've only been to the hospital to see the kid once since the accident. I didn't like it there, not one bit. The annoying beep of his heart monitor, the compression sound of that machine that breathes for him, the whiteness of the room, the stillness of him, everything about it made me want to punch someone until they're unconscious.

I already had too many bad memories from that hospital. I wasn't about to add another one to it.

Besides, why sit in that hospital room by Ponyboy's bed, waiting for him to just slip away, when I could be figuring out who put the kid in the hospital in the first place. I couldn't hurt Sodapop, no matter how much I wanted to. So I had to find out who was driving the damn car that hit Ponyboy on the road.

"They said he's gettin' worse. His stats are gettin' lower each day, and his chances of him waking up are gettin' slimmer and slimmer." He said somberly.

I took a deep breath, and clenched my eyes shut to attempt not to yell out.

"I swear, I'm goin' to find out who did this." I clenched my jaw.

He sighed, and then threw his head up, looking at me with a determined glow in his eyes.

"Let's go." He stated. "I'm done sittin' around, I want to find out who did this as much as you do."

I nodded my head, and gave him a serious look.

"Come on then, you know where we gotta go first."

He nodded his head, lit a cigarette, and we both started down the road taking the alleyways, on route to the alley behind that old burger shack on the west side of town, where we found Pony a week ago.

I clenched my fist, tightened my jaw, and trotted heavily, attempting to look meaner, and Two-bit did the same.

I didn't care if the streets were filled with hundreds of socs tonight, me and Two-bit were going to find out who the hell hurt Ponyboy.

I didn't care if I had to be kicked out of Buck's three more times, or got hauled in the police station myself.

I was going to find out who the hell hurt Ponyboy.

XXXX

Hope you all enjoyed the chapter. Please review, and thank you for reading.

 **Please let me know who's POV you want featured next chapter!**


	11. Chapter 11

Sorry this chapter took a little longer. I kept scrapping it and writing it over, trying to make it just right, you know? It took a lot of planning too.

Anyways, you know the drill, nothing is owned by me besides the few OC's I made.

WARNING: This chapter is pretty intense and there's kind of a major cliffy at the end. You have been warned!

 **TAKE CARE OF HIM JOHNNY CAKE - CHAPTER 11**

TWO-BIT'S POV:

It was a quiet night.

The only sound that filled the air around us was the chilly autumn wind whistling in the sky, and me and Dally's feet hitting the pavement as we walked.

I didn't like the silence. It made me think. And of course, the only thing that was really on all the gang's minds was the fourteen year old boy lying comatose in the hospital nearby. The silence brought images like his lit up eyes and kind smile to my thoughts, and it just reminded me that I might never see his shining eyes and smile ever again.

It was a chilly night compared to the ones we have been having recently, and the stars weren't as bright and plentiful. I tried to notice all kinds of random things, to attempt to get my mind of Ponyboy, but nothing worked. That boy was permanently carved inside my head.

Luckily, the sound of another batch of loud, running footsteps and the familiar voice calling out " _Hey guys! Wait up!"_ brought both me and Dally back to reality.

Soon enough, a beat out Steve Randle arrived next to me, following the serious toned " _What are you doin' here, Steve"_ from Dallas.

"Come on, you don't think I know what you to are up to?" He replied. "'Sides, I had the same idea."

"Where's Sodapop?" I asked, ignoring the annoyed huff from Dally at the sound of Soda's name. I knew Sodapop wasn't holding up all too well, and Steve did a pretty good job of keeping him together.

"Just came home the hospital. Darry's got him tonight." He said quietly, not wanting to agitate Dallas more. I nodded, and continued to walk.

Soon enough, the silence between the three of us returned, and the memories of Ponyboy greeted my mind once again.

I sighed, but it wasn't long until we took a turn down a familiar, haunting alleyway, passing the lit up Burger Chef sign above our heads.

I rubbed a hand over my face as we all stopped near a familiar red and brown stained area of pavement. The colour screamed at me, and replayed the horrifying images of the bleeding kid who laid in the same spot of the ruby pavement. His scratched face, his twisted foot, his torn clothes, all the _blood._

A wave of nausea came over me, and I had to look away from the pavement or else I would've puked up all the beer I drank at Buck's. And since that red appeared on the pavement, it was too much to throw up for my liking.

The three if us stood there for a minute, thinking about how horrible the past week has been.

We all had our own way of "dealing" with the situation. Shoot, there probably wasn't a _right_ way to be dealing with the situation. There was hardly _any_ way you could deal with the situation. There just wasn't. You don't just easily "deal" with that the youngest member of the gang and pretty much the kid brother to all of us was lying in a damn hospital bed, with only a small chance of waking up. You don't. Period.

But you could tell all of us were trying to get by, even if it was damn near impossible.

Dally spent most of his time at Buck's. He didn't come by the Curtis's place very often anymore. For the past week, that house was filled with so much tension and sadness you could practically cut it with a knife. Sodapop's cries filled the small house, and honestly the only reason I went over there was to make an appearance, let them know I was here and stuff, you dig? Dally on the other hand, wouldn't even mention Sodapop's name, which was probably a good thing, considering he was actually _trying_ to keep his temper under control. Dallas was hard to read. One minute he'd be gloomy and depressed about the situation, and the next he'd be angry and uncaring. I remember Ponyboy telling me Dallas Winston had a soft core, but glory, the kid must have some eyes to see it.

Me on the other hand, I was all over the place. I'd stop by the hospital a few times, usually once every day or two, and for the rest of the day I'd be at the Curtis's, Buck's, the DX, or the Dingo, sometimes all of them. I had to keep busy, or else that boy would creep into my mind, and then it's just real hard to keep standing. Which was why I didn't really go over the Curtis's house often; every where you turned in that place reminded you of Pony. His coat hanging by the door, along with his rough looking shoes on the floor, his navy backpack and white track shoes sitting by the couch, his pictures, framed on the walls and sitting on the dusty fireplace, his books and homework scattering the coffee table and I can only guess scattering his and Soda's room too.

Steve spent most of his time with Sodapop, or working at the DX. I knew he was clocking in extra hours for Sodapop to help with the financial stuff. Shoot, I think we all knew, but we never said anything. That Randle guy was a character. He kept Sodapop on his feet most of the time, and helped him out as much as he could. Darry wasn't much of a help; he was trying to keep up his Superman reputation, but he wasn't doing too well. You could see the sadness in his pale blue-green eyes and the slow way he walked.

Sodapop...golly, he was a zombie. From what Steve told me, Soda slept in Pony's room, crying himself to sleep every night. Steve said he can hear his wails from out in the living room where he's been staying ever since the accident. Him and Darry have to pull him out of bed and force him to eat; Steve has to force even Darry to eat too. Some days Steve's able to get him to work, some days he can't, but either way, Steve works under Soda's name.

Darry hasn't been holding up all to well either. Like I said, you can just sort of _see_ the sadness coming from him. His stern eyes are softer and droopier, his posture is weaker and he walks slower too. He sighs a lot, and sometimes you'd see him just staring off into the distance, deep in thought. It was strange seeing Darry less "superdopey" and strong. It scares me, and probably everyone else that Darry might be like this for a long time if Pony didn't wake up. Glory, none of us would be the same if Ponyboy didn't wake up.

We didn't stay there in the alley long.

The three of us wanted to get moving; standing there staring at the bloodied pavement wasn't doing us any favours. None of us were really sure where to start searching, it's a pretty big town, especially when you're trying to find a certain person who happened to run down a kid and drove away. Yeah, that's _a lot_ to go by.

One things for sure, the trail of red leading up to the stained area of pavement and the small width of the alleyway meant that Pony probably wasn't even hit by the car exactly where we found him.

The alley was small, that's for sure. Smaller than most alleys, and was pretty much abandoned. Grass and weeds grew from cracks in the pavement and along the corners of the buildings, garbage scattered the place - pop bottles, candy wrappers, random torn papers - and blew in the wind. It's probably why so many greasers use it as a shortcut; slightly hidden, unused, and unpopulated. It's the last place any soc would probably look to find a greaser to jump.

 _But it's also a place no one would look for a dying kid._

The thought thundered in my head, and realization hit me.

 _Ponyboy was dragged here._

Glory, it made my stomach churn. I took a deep breath and clenched my eyes shut, as cruel, gruesome images of the youngest member of the gang being roughly hauled down the alleyway, bleeding and unconscious.

Dally and Steve must of figured it out too, by the sounds of Steve's quiet " _Christ..."_ and Dallas's angry " _son of a bitch..."._

Dally started off down the alleyway, and me and Steve followed, haunted by the cherry trail which stains the pavement underneath our walking feet. We followed the trail - which was surprisingly long - until our shoes walked along a road. The three of us stopped in our tracks and stared intently at the numerous jagged marks, scattering darkly across the pavement in straight and circular lines.

 _Tire tracks._

Dallas wasted no time before he took of towards the tracks, Steve by his side. I ran a hand over my face, and joined the two greasers, failing to keep my eyes off the large marks and the continued cherry trail beneath my feet.

A scrunching sound started as we walked. Millions of shards of glass strewed across the paved road, glimmering in the moonlight.

For a moment I thought about the glass scattering the floor of the Curtis's living room from Mrs. Curtis's shattered gold-rimmed mirror. I thought about how Mrs. Curtis would always be seen proudly dusting and polishing the gold-rimmed mirror, making it shimmer brightly as you glanced at it. You'd always hear her mumbling " _there"_ or " _perfect"_ as she polished and picked at it during her daily housework and she would be seen more than once tipping the mirror left and right along the wall making sure it was flawlessly lined up on the wall, even if no one else noticed it being tilted. You'd hear her soft but serious toned voice saying " _watch the mirror, boys"_ as all of the gang would walk in and join the Curtis brothers on the couch, playing, laughing and roughhousing.

Golly, Mrs. Curtis sure did love that gold-rimmed mirror.

I thought of how the shiny gold rim became more dull and dusty as Mrs. Curtis's hands no longer picked and polished it and you would no longer catch her sticking her tongue out of the side of her mouth as she perfectly straightened the large square mirror. Dust and dirt built up atop the no longer shimmery rim, and suddenly the mirror was no longer the beautiful, eye-catching sight it once was in the Curtis house without Mrs. Curtis.

But still, all the gang would secretly care for it; we stayed clear of the gold-rimmed mirror when we fooled around and roughhoused. We made sure not to do any damage to it, for Mrs. Curtis. The mirror was a painful reminder of what was gone, but none of the Curtis brothers had the heart to take it down. It stayed on the wall, dusty maybe, but every time we took a glance at it, Mrs. Curtis's gentle hands could be seen polishing the rim with pride, and it would become the shiny gold-rimmed mirror once again for a moment.

But a few times, a few _lucky_ times, I would secretly catch Ponyboy lining up the mirror perfectly on the wall, or gently dusting off the gold rim with a rag, just like his mother once had done so many times. I don't know if anyone else knew of Pony's little habit, but it didn't matter. Whenever I would catch him, I'd quietly watch, softly grinning as his tongue would find itself sticking out the corner of his mouth as he tilted the mirror left and right, exactly how his mother would do. I'd watch as the mirror would once again shine like it had before Mrs. Curtis had gone and Ponyboy would smile a small smile, put down the rag, and pick up a book, as if no one had caught him cleaning the gold-rimmed mirror his mother had once loved so much.

As the shards of glass shimmered along the marked pavement in the moonlight, I thought of how sobs wrecked Sodapop's body as he started hastily picking up the shards from the shattered mirror on the floor one by one as soon as he came through the door, returning from the hospital a week ago. All of us except Dallas stayed over with Sodapop and Darry that night. I just sat on the couch with my head in my hand thinking of the shattered gold-rimmed mirror, now sitting on the floor just a scratched up golden rim and millions of sharp glass shards. Darry and Steve gently asked and begged Sodapop to stop and let them clean it up, to calm down and head onto bed, but Sodapop refused, and continued hastily picking up the glass between sobs. Eventually he did stop, and ended up sitting on the couch next to me with the help of Steve, as Darry used a broom and dustpan to clean up the mess. Soda wouldn't sleep in his or Ponyboy's room, claiming both reminded him of the kid, and ended out cocking out on the couch as I went and sat in Darry's arm chair to give him room.

I fell asleep in the chair, Soda on the couch, and Steve on blankets on the floor. Darry went to his room, but from the amount of waking up to footsteps walking around in the kitchen and to the bathroom in the middle of the night, I could tell he didn't get much sleep at all. I didn't either, as my eyes kept wandering to the square gold rim sitting on the floor by the wall.

But my thoughts were robbed from me, as a shaky voice from the side of the road sounded in mine, Steve, and Dally's ears.

"They're the ones who hit the kid man, I know it. They're the ones who hit that greaser kid, they gotta be. It all adds up."

XXXX

STEVE'S POV:

I winced, rubbing my bloody and swollen knuckles; I was sure at least one of them was sprained. Either way, worse could be said about that kid's face.

Glory, it felt good to let all the steam out, even if it rained down on that pansy-ass soc.

"How's the hand, Stevie?" Two-bit snorted.

"The hand's fine, thank you very much."

"Says the guy who just released the mother of wrath down on a kid," He smirks slightly, shaking his head. "Say, give me a heads up next time you wanna go all war-zoney, 'kay Stevie?"

"Oh shut your trap, it worked didn't it?" I glared at him.

I have to admit, I didn't expect to go _that_ hard on the guy; I just wanted to rough him up, get some information and scare him a bit, you dig? But when I heard him talking about some "greaser kid who got hit" and "who" I just saw red. I knew he was talking about Ponyboy, hell, we all did. I didn't even expect to be the first one to take off towards him and his buddy he had there, but I was, even before Dallas. After one punch came another, and another, and another, and I couldn't even stop when he gave up all the information he had. I just kept on hitting him until Two-bit got me off him. As soon as I was on my feet, the kid took off, surprising us all that he could even walk after the beating I gave him.

"Yeah, yeah" Two-bit admitted. "You see that other kid? Glory, I've never seen no one run so fast in my life."

Both of us winced slightly at his words. Truth is, we _had_ seen someone run as fast. We seen someone run faster, _way_ faster. Ponyboy was the fastest. Every race, every tournament at the school, he was always the fastest. Always bringing home that gold medal, that shiny trophy, that colourful ribbon. I always thought he liked the ribbons best. The way his eyes would light up as the bright colour stood out on his track uniform, or the way I'd catch him picking at it proudly and just sizing up the colour. Since last week, I had been going in his and Sodapop's bedroom often, grabbing clothes and stuff for Soda since he refused to go in there himself. As soon as you'd walk in, the colourful ribbons would be the first thing your eyes would catch onto, there pinned on the corkboard above the desk, lined up in rows, taking up most of the room on it. Sure, the spot on the bookshelf made specifically for the several trophies and the small spot on the wall where the medals were hung were eye-catching too, but never as much as the colourful ribbons. The ribbons were perfectly lined up, so much care put into each one, you couldn't help but stare at is as you entered the small room.

The sad thing is, is that the fourteen year-old who had pinned those ribbons, hung those medals, placed those trophies, would no longer pick and stare at the new colourful folded fabric on his jersey in awe, no longer have another shiny medal dangling from his neck proudly, no longer carry a heavy shiny trophy under his arm with care as he'd smile brightly in Darry's truck on the way home.

We _had_ seen someone run as fast as that scared soc on the road. We saw someone _faster._ But we would see no more.

I pushed the depressing thoughts away, and focused on the memory of the frightened soc taking off, abandoning his buddy through another alley as he caught sight of me, Dally, and Two-bit barreling towards him and his friend.

"Yeah, I'm surprised he didn't start bawlin' then and there." I said, ignoring the sting of Two-bit's words. He seemed grateful too.

"You sure are one scary gorilla Stevie boy, I almost took off runnin' too," He joked, attempting to lighten the mood. It didn't do much, but it worked some, and I scoffed.

"You two wanna shut it? Christ, no wonder the kid took off." Dally scowled. We didn't take it personally, Dallas was just being Dallas.

"So you know this...drug dealer guy?" Two-bit asked, struggling to remember the guy's name.

"Brian. And yeah, I know him." Dally answered.

I wondered how Dal knew the guy. I mean, I didn't think Dally would be the type of guy to be doing drugs and everything. He was a greasy hood no doubt, but no junkie. It just made me curious is all, by the way the soc kid talked about this Brian guy, you'd best take him serious. The kid was scared of him for sure; he owed Brian a favour, and he didn't have it done. The guys who wanted the drugs didn't show, and the kid didn't get his money. _Brian's_ money.

"Met him in jail." Dally said. "Gets hauled in a lot. We got somethin' in common I guess." He scoffs.

"He ain't a soc. Kinda middle class, but a JD no doubt. He got a big mouth. Goes mouthin' off about everyone, you know, talkin' shit about greasers, the gang in particular to piss me off." He says, glaring as he talked about Brian.

"Lemme guess, Dallas Winston goes all war-zoney on this guy too?" Two-bit scoffs.

"Somethin' like that."

"And who won?" I ask.

"You hafta' ask?" He smirked, and so did I.

"You think the kid was telling the truth?"

"Probably. Wouldn't put it past Brian for gettin' other kids to do the deals. Doubt he'd tell him anything about the junkies either. Kid most likely didn't know what they looked like, just where to meet 'em"

"You think these guys had somethin' to do with Pony?" Two-bit asks.

"Yeah," Dal sighs. "I do. Brian sells the hard stuff. Wouldn't doubt it bein' pure coke. The deal was set. These guys wouldn't have just not shown up unless somethin' happened."

A silence looms over the three of us again, and I stare at my bloody knuckles, somehow wanting to punch something again. Christ...I mean, the thought of a bunch of guys crashing into a fourteen year old with their car, and just dragging him into an alley makes me stomach sick. Don't matter if the kid was a greaser, it's just plain cruel. You don't do shit like that.

"You know where this guy lives?" I ask Dallas, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

"Where do you think we're headed?"

XXXX

PONYBOY'S POV:

Glory...I don't know what happened.

I don't know what happened, but I didn't really care.

God...I just...

I wanted Johnny to shut up so bad. I wanted him to just sit and put his arm around me like he had been doing for the past week or something since I got into this mess. I wanted him to sit and stop talking.

Because the minute he got that sorry look in his eye and stood up in front of me, I knew something was going to happen.

 _I knew it._

But I didn't expect _this._

I should have known.

Johnny had been quiet the whole week. _Too_ quiet. Doctors and nurses, the gang and my brothers all came in and out of my room, and he just stayed quiet. I tried talking to them, but it was no use, they couldn't hear me.

I should have known Johnny was being quiet for a reason.

I should have known Johnny wouldn't be quiet for long.

I just wish he was. God, I wish he was.

The minute he looked at my cast covered foot on the bed, I wanted him to stay quiet. I didn't want to hear what he had to say. But I had no choice.

He spoke sadly, but clearly, and I wish he hadn't.

I wish his words were hard to understand, but they weren't. They were as clear as crystals, and I understood every syllable.

I wish I hadn't.

 _You can't run track no more, Pone._

Please shut up Johnny.

 _You hurt your foot real bad, man._

Please be quiet. _Please._

 _You might have to walk in crutches._

Please, Johnny...

 _You'll have a limp._

Please...

 _You can't run no more._

Please...

 _I'm so sorry Pony._

Please!

 _Ponyboy?_

Please please please please please please...

 _Pony? Come on man, talk to me._

I covered my ears and screamed as the hospital intercom sounded in my ears.

 _Pone, you got to calm down._

I screamed as his arms wrapped around me, and doctors and nurses raced into the room, yelling things I couldn't understand. I didn't care. I wished everyone would just shut up. Please...

"We have a code blue!" The doctor shouted.

 _Pony! Come on man, snap out of it!_

I scream as the doctor yells.

"Patient is in ventricular tachycardia, someone get the defibrillator, now!"

I screamed and screamed and screamed, but nothing could drown out the noise.

My breath came out in short pants as Johnny shook me.

 _Ponyboy!_

"Charge to three-hundred!"

 _Pony listen to me!_

"Clear!"

A sickening thump echoed through the room as tears flooded down my face.

 _You gotta think about this Ponyboy._

"Charge to three-fifty!"

 _Pony, come on, breathe!_

"Clear!"

Another thump.

 _Ponyboy..._

"Charge to four-hundred!"

 _Pone, look at me, this isn't what you want!_

"Clear!"

Thump.

 _Ponyboy!_

"Starting compressions!"

The doctor started pumping down onto my body's chest with his hands, but I didn't care.

I couldn't breathe.

I couldn't see straight.

I couldn't think.

 _Ponyboy listen to me right now._

Johnny?

 _Is this what you want?_

I stared at him as my breaths continued to come out jaggedly.

I stared at his large, dark eyes.

 _Is this your choice, Pone?_

He talks gently, but urgently.

I glance at the nervous, serious looking nurses and the bald-headed man pushing down on my chest, sweat running along his brow and his eyes strong and determined.

 _Ponyboy?_

"Should we call it, doctor?"

 _Pony?_

"Just hold on. _Hold on._ "

 _Is this what you choose?_

"Doctor?"

 _Pone?_

"Just wait," The doctor answers nervously.

I shut my eyes tightly.

"No." I say to Johnny, as a breath finds it's way down into my lungs.

 _That's it Pone, just breath._

"We've got a pulse, doctor."

The doctor takes a relieved breath.

Another tear trickles down my face.

 _It's okay, Ponyboy._

I look at his brown eyes.

"No, Johnny, it's not."

The doctor runs a hand over his face tiredly.

"Brain activity?" He asks, sounding like he's dreading the answer.

 _Pone..._

The nurse sighs.

"Not enough, doctor," She says sadly. "There's no chance left."

XXXX

Oh my gosh...I'm so sorry for ending it there! Nonetheless, I hope this chapter didn't disappoint!

Just to let you know:

 **THIS STORY IS PLANNED TO BE FOURTEEN CHAPTERS LONG, OKAY? I HAVE EVERYTHING SOMEWHAT PLANNED!**

R & R is appreciated!


	12. Chapter 12

Sorry this chapter took a bit long! It's been a busy week for me; it was really hard to find time to write! Anyways, here it is, chapter 12. Just three more chapters to go!

All rights go to S.E Hinton.

Some swearing in this chapter, but what can you expect when reading a Dallas Winston's POV?

 **TAKE CARE OF HIM JOHNNY CAKE - CHAPTER 12**

DALLY'S POV:

I was pissed.

No, scratch that. I was _beyond_ pissed.

I mean, who the hell runs down a fourteen year-old kid then drags him in an alleyway to die? Jesus Christ...

Now let's face it; I ain't the most charitable golden citizen either, but seriously? That's a real low even for me.

Would I make a deal for drugs with Brian Adamson? _Hell no._

Would I run a kid down? _Probably._

Would I drag him in an alleyway to bleed to death? _Not a chance._

Close near every person in the town knew about my reputation and criminal record, and if I was completely honest with you, I'm pretty proud of it. You take one look at me, all you see is a tough, mean hood; just the way I like it. Anyone notices any tear-jerking goodness coming from me, they start to expect tear-jerking goodness, and I'm not looking into going by anyone else's expectations. I got my _own_ expectations, and you best believe I'll be living up to them.

But I'll be damned if I ever left a scrawny fourteen year-old dying in a dirty alley after I hit him with my car. I'll be damned I tell you; I'll be damned.

So when Steve, Two-bit, and myself walked up old Brian's porch - where he sit smoking a cigarette and staring at me with a cocky smirk - the only expectations anyone should have had for me then was to beat the living daylights out of that son-of-a-bitch.

And I did just so.

You see, _I'm a bull._

A bull that was just scanning thoroughly for any inch of red to charge furiously at.

And Brian?

Brian was a big red flag.

A tall, cocky, tough looking hood, but a red flag at that.

And I just couldn't resist.

My fist jammed harshly into the left side of his face with a beautiful thud, and I glared at him as he got up from the floor and spit out blood that was running out the side of his mouth.

 _Probably knocked a tooth loose._ I smirked to myself.

Steve snatched the cigarette that Brian had miraculously continued to hold despite the hit to the face, and after a concentrated sniff from the three of us, the cigarette wasn't actually a cigarette after all.

The bastard was smoking a joint.

 _Should have known._

He grinned murderously and wiped his mouth swiftly with the sleeve of his coal black leather jacket.

"Fancy seein' you here Dallas," He said, flicking his semi-short, chocolate-brown hair that dangled over his forehead a little. "Come to settle old arguments?"

Two-bit and Steve leaned on the railing of the porch, close and ready to grab-a-hold of Brian if needed, but they kept their distance; they knew well enough that I was the one going to deal with this asshole.

"Somethin' like that." I glared.

"Plannin' on runnin' off scared again?"

"Last time I checked it was _you_ who was scared. Bleedin' and beat to a bloody pulp in the street while the fuzz showed."

He shrugged. "Still, wouldn't expect Dallas Winston to be scared of a couple of badges."

God almighty, I was getting mad. _More_ mad. I knew what Brian was doing. I knew he was trying to get in under my skin, trying to rile me up, it's what he does. I didn't care much, but I still made ineffective attempts of keeping my temper under control. It worked a little, but that didn't stop me from violently grabbing the collar of his jacket and pinning him to the wall.

He grunted a bit, but quickly returned to that cocky smirk that was enough to drive anyone insane.

Brian whistled. "Woah-ho-ho, 'careful Dal, wouldn't want that vein there in your forehead to pop out."

"You done?" I spat, beating him against the wall again.

"What can I do for you?" He grinned.

"I want the names of the guys you had a couple soc kids deal some coke to. Deal was supposed to go down a week ago. _Give me their names."_ I beat him against the wall once more.

He laughed. _Laughed._ Christ, I was going to kill this guy.

"Well fellas, I make _a lot_ of kids to do _a lot_ of deals. Can't say I know which one your talkin' ab-"

He wasn't able to finish his sentence before my fist smashed into his face violently once again. Twice now Brian's head had whipped to the side and blood had ran down his mouth from the force of my punch tonight. Twice, and I wasn't expecting it to stop there.

"You want details? I'll give you details." I glared venomously. Brian didn't speak, and spat out some more blood as I grabbed ahold of his leather collar and pinned him up against the wall again.

"Exactly one week from today, you made two soc kids - probably fifteen year-olds - sell some of your cocaine. One's a short blondie, the other's real jumpy. Ringing a bell?" I glared.

Brian glanced upwards, raised one eyebrow, and tilted his mouth in a "thinking" expression.

"Hm," He looked back at me, shaking his head. "Nope, no bells are rung."

And for the third time tonight, my fist had collided with Brian Adamson's face.

"Listen to me right now, Brian." My grip on his jacket tightened. "You think I ain't serious? You think I'm playin' around? You see a smile on my face?"

"Two-bit? Steve? Either of you see a smile on my face?" I called out, not bothering to look at them, keeping my angry glare on Brian.

"Nope." They both answered simultaneously.

"Yeah, me neither. So let's try this again."

"Let's."

"A coke deal. A week from today. Located by the old burger shack on the west side of town. The dealers were two soc kids. Tell me the names of the buyers, _or so help me God."_

I was ready to kill the son-of-a-bitch. Honestly, I was. If I had a heater or my blade on me, Brian would be bleeding on the porch already. But I needed the names. I needed the names of the idiots who ran Pony down and left him for dead. I _needed_ the names. I couldn't kill him. Not yet.

But when he looked at me and I saw the start of another grin, I couldn't hold back any longer.

In a swift, painful movement, my fists grasped the collar of his coal black leather jacket and I hauled him out from the wall and onto the wooden floor of the porch, with me looking down on him. I punched him, and punched him, and punched him, until I found the strength to stop with the help of a quick whistle from Two-bit and a look from Steve which said " _we need him alive, man."_

Six times now Brian's felt the pain of my punch, and I wasn't sure I would be able to stop if there was a seventh.

"You listenin'?" I spat, right up in Brian's face with a murderous glare of my own. "Give me the names of the goddamn buyers."

"Give me the names of the guys who slammed their car into a fourteen year old kid."

"Give me the names of the guys who grabbed him hold and dragged him down a cold, dirty alley."

"Give me the names of the guys who left a damn fourteen year-old kid for dead after hitting him with their car."

"Give me the names of the buyers, Brian, or I'll kill you. I ain't jokin' either."

My angrily shaking hands violently gripped the bottom of his face, forcing him to look at me. My attempts to make my voice less shaky than my hands were ineffective and by the tenseness of Two-bit and Steve, I probably looked like I was ready to burst.

And glory, you'd best believe I was.

Brian let out a strangled laugh, and I was ready. Then and there, all I could think about was driving my fist into his face until it was nothing but a pile of blood and bones.

But as he laughed, he spoke.

"A 1964.5 Ford Mustang. Shiny, jet black, and a beauty," He whistled. "A beauty I tell you."

I stared at him, and I could tell Two-bit and Steve were too.

"Black, leather seats, and a custom engine. 260 horsepower." He shut his eyes and smiled. "Glory, she could purr."

"A tall guy with fiery red hair owned her. Rich parents, rich friends, rich everythin', so I suppose it didn't matter if he damaged her a bit." Brian scoffed. "Guy hit a mailbox one night comin' home drunk and smashed one of the headlights. Car was still a beauty, but now there was this big, sharp piece of headlight half hangin' off and dangling in the wind where the headlight should have been. Red-head probably hadn't got the time to fix it."

I glared at him. All I wanted was the names. _The names._

But he continued to babble on.

"That shiny, black mustang would stand out from a crowd a' millions in the day time. You'd see people eyeballin' it all the time, pointin' and lettin' their eyes turn into stars."

"In the day time." Brian stared off in the air, deep in thought. "In the nighttime," He whistled. "In the nighttime you'd never see it coming. Especially now with one headlight gone and the other shut off because the red-head and his buddies didn't want to get caught by the fuzz. They wanted to be invisible. And glory, they were. It was a ghost car, prowling the roads at night, engine purring loudly through the air. No one would see it coming."

"Not even a fourteen year-old greaser roamin' the roads." He smirked. "Not even him."

It hit me.

The Mustang. Ponyboy.

Jesus Christ.

"You son of a-" I mumbled, ready to strangle Brian.

But Two-bit put a hand on my shoulder, while he too, was glaring at Brian.

Two-bit went back over with Steve, Brian grinned, and the talking started again.

"News travels fast around here. I got my sources, you got yours. Besides, I paid the red-headed guy a visit. Let's just say he owed me a bit of money." He chuckled.

"He got his merchandise, I got my cash, everything was good and concluded, man. Now that blonde kid and his friend, yeah, maybe I let them think I was mad 'cause they never got me the money themselves, but hey, they both owed me a favour so it evens out. I never gave him real drugs to give to the buyers anyways. Wasn't planning on giving the redhead and his buddies any of my coke. They're assholes, no good to be making deals with, but what can I say, I got a soft spot for Mustangs, so I gave him what he asked for."

"The _names_ Brian. Give me the goddamn names." I spat.

But he didn't listen.

God, I hate this guy.

"Red-head got a nice house. Real big, expensive looking."

"I don't care about his house, I want his-"

"Big windows, big garage, glory, his parents must have the dough."

"Tell me his-"

"I suppose it's what you should expect on the west-side of town; big houses, big garages, nice cars. It's all so expected. Kind of boring once you get used to looking at it."

"I ain't foolin' around here, give me his name Brian. _His name._ "

"But I tell you one thing", he smirked. "I did _not_ expect to go and see that beautiful 1964.5 jet black Ford Mustang sitting in the garage, scratched, dented, and almost bloody totaled."

"So help me G-"

"That perfect paint job ruined and chipped, the clear, shiny glass windows shattered, a couple of those silver-rimmed tires flat, the sturdy frame bent and dented," Brian shut his eyes, thinking. "But that headlight. The broken one that always used to flap in the wind, glory..."

"Alright, that's enough." I snapped angrily.

"The headlight was gone. The sharp piece no longer sat where there was supposed to be a headlight. It was _gone._ "

I knew what he was talking about. The look of the large, sharp shard of a headlight, covered in dirt and blood as it stuck out of Pony's unmoving body was not an image that would be leaving my head anytime soon.

I was beyond pissed.

And even that's an understatement.

My fists grabbed Brian's jacket so tightly and shakily that my knuckles turned white.

But that didn't make him shut up.

"I heard the news. Who hadn't? Kid hit by car, coma, yada-yada-yada,"

By now my breath was coming out in pants and I trembled furiously. I mean, who does he think he is? Who the _hell_ does he think he is? He's got some nerve talking like that to me. Anger flooded through my veins and I was sure steam was making it's way out of my ears.

"Yeah, I heard what happened. Doesn't mean I cared, now. I knew that red-head and his buddies had somethin' to do with it, but man," He chuckled in amazement. "when I seen that car, I'm surprised the badges weren't on the front door-step then and there."

"You shut your goddamn mouth you hear?! You hear me Brian?!" I screamed, enraged, but he ignored me.

"The Mustang was totaled. Totaled I tell you. _Totaled._ But I always wondered where all that blood came from on the missing headlight. I always wondered-"

"Hey! Shut your mouth!"

"-Where that sharp piece of headlight went."

"Shut your mouth or I swear to God..."

"But then I remembered that comatose kid in the hospital - Ponyboy Curtis, was it? - and I was like: _oh, yeah!_ "

My fist raised high in the air.

"The headlight went _into him."_ Brian clicked his tongue and made an expression which said _yeah, now I remember._

My knuckles barreled into his face with so much force it surprised me, and right then I knew I wouldn't be able to hold back anymore. I had finally burst, and I wasn't going to stop anytime soon.

I can't remember exactly what happened. It was all a blur.

All I saw was red. Rage was spilling out of me, and I couldn't stop it. I didn't _want_ to stop it.

Like I said, _I'm a bull._

And Brian Adamson was a bigger red flag than he had ever been.

The way he talked about the kid...it made my blood boil. The way he talked in _general_ made my blood boil. He had a big mouth. Always did. And even though it pissed me off, I always could deal with it. I'd tell him off, beat him bloody, and it wouldn't happen again until the next time we'd end up in jail together.

But this time?

This time _nothing_ would be enough to deal with him.

Punch after punch, kick after kick, anger still radiated off of me.

I screamed.

I punched.

I kicked.

I slammed him on and off the floor.

I ripped on his hair.

I grabbed his throat as his limps flailed violently around the place and his lips turned an odd blue.

I was going to kill him. I know I was. But it was all a blur; it was all red. I couldn't even control my own body. I knew I was going to kill him.

Steve and Two-bit must've knew too, and after a moment their screams and yells filled the air too, along with their useless grabs and pulls on my arms and body.

I punched Brian again and again, and took ahold of his throat once more.

"Tell me their names!" I yelled. "Their names!"

But all Brian let out were struggles grunts and winces.

Two-bit and Steve grabbed, clawed, and yelled at me but all were in vain. Nothing would get me off of the guy.

Until a third set of hands wrapped around me and a hard punch found it's way across my face.

My head whipped to the side and my body stumbled a bit from the blow, giving the others a chance to pull me away.

Two pairs of hands grabbed my arms and the third grabbed ahold of my jacket, dragging me off the porch and away from a beaten, bloody, barely moving Brian Adamson.

"Get offa' me!" I yelled, struggling. I put up a good fight, but the three people holding me down and the adrenaline fading from my system made it real hard.

"Settle it down, Dallas." A familiar, rough voice spoke strongly, revealing the identity of the third pair of hands.

 _Tim Shepard._

But I didn't stop fighting and struggling not one bit. My legs flailed and my arms tugged, and the strong hands remained in place.

"Settle it down man, settle it down." Tim said, facing me.

But the look on his face startled me, and my flailing limbs and useless tugs pulled to a halt.

Where I was so used to seeing an angry, cold, and strong expression, his dark blue eyes were laced with sympathy, slightly soft.

goosebumps formed on my arms and my breath caught in my throat.

Especially when he said his name.

"It's the kid. Ponyboy."

Two-bit and Steve's firm grip on my arms let go immediately, but it didn't matter. I couldn't move.

He took a deep breath, and spoke, his dark blue eyes switching back and fourth from the three of us.

And if I thought Tim saying the kid's _name_ the way he did was bad...nothing could prepare me for what came out of his mouth after. _nothing._

I stared at him, my face expressionless, unable to move, unable to think as his words replayed themselves in my head.

A small gasp followed by a deep struggled sob from Two-bit filled the air once Tim was finished, and Steve didn't make a sound.

I continued to stare.

By now I would expect an annoyed remark from Tim, probably along the lines of " _what're you starin' at buddy,_ " but he just stared back at me, keeping that unfamiliar sympathetic look in his eye.

His words, repeating themselves like a broken record in my head.

Everything was frozen in place, but the echo of Tim's rough voice seemed to continue endlessly.

But no matter how many times that dreadful sentence played around me, two words stuck like glue. Two words clawed at my insides and made my mouth run dry. Two words.

 _Two days._

 _Two days..._

 _Two days._

I found the strength to pull myself off the hard pavement, and started towards the direction of the porch, only to be greeted with a firm hand on my chest, stopping me from moving any further.

Tim looked at me, scanning for any reaction, not angrily, not sad, but sympathetic and reassuring. I didn't like it on Tim. That look was never supposed to be on _Tim._

I jerked my chest and shoulder, shoving his hand off of me, but he didn't put it there again.

I wasn't going to hit Brian again, and he knew it.

I shuffled up the porch steps emotionless, as the words played again.

 _Two days._

I bent inward, facing Brian who struggled to grasp onto consciousness. He just stared up at me, his eyelids heavy, his face swollen, bruised, and bloody.

 _Two days._

I took a deep breath, and forced a sentence from my lips.

 _Two days._

"Call a rumble. The vacant lot on the east-side of town. Tell this _red-head_ and his _buddies_ to be there."

 _Two days._

"Two days."

XXXX

DARRY'S POV:

"Ponyboy?" My voice cracked.

"Ponyboy, can you hear me?" I tried again.

Nothing.

"Little buddy?"

Nothing.

I sighed, and had to pry my tear-threatening eyes away from my baby brother's limp body, and decided to stare at the grey clock on the wall.

 _11:54PM._

I ran a shaky hand over my face, and tried to pretend like I was home, in my bed, attempting sleep for the early rise for work in the morning like I had been just an hour and a half ago.

But the steady beep of Pony's heart monitor and the permission to stay in his room over visiting hours made it impossible.

If it was yesterday, or any other day this week, I wouldn't even have to think twice about staying in his room for extra hours if I was allowed. I wanted to spend time with him. I wanted to be able to see him, touch him, like as if it would somehow keep him here.

But the remembrance of the loud phone call ringing through the quiet house as I lay in bed makes my mouth quiver.

The soft - but urgent - sympathetic voice on the other end of the line haunted my thoughts and gave me goosebumps.

The vroom of my truck's engine, speeding down the road towards the hospital, breaking every speed limit known to man.

The shaky voice of Sodapop, sobbing and crying in the passenger seat.

 _"D-Darry? What's goin' on?"_ He had said. _"What's goin' on, Dar? What's happenin'?"_

The clear, compassionate voice of the bald-headed doctor, calling us to his office.

What he told us...he told us what happened...he...

A sob accidentally escaped my lips, and I covered my mouth with my shaky hand, unable to think anymore.

Ponyboy's hospital room was quiet.

I wished Sodapop was here. His voice usually filled the silence, softly saying reassuring words to an unconscious Ponyboy, or speaking to me a couple times.

But Sodapop wasn't here, and the quietness clawed at me.

Sodapop was in another room, sedated and unconscious too.

The echo of his screams and cries still ran through my ears.

The other off-white chair remained toppled over next to the wall from the struggles and resistance from my second brother as the nurses tried jabbing him with a needle.

" _No! You can't do that! You can't just let him die! Please!"_ He had yelled.

" _You hafta' do something! You can't just let him die! You can't! No! Do something! Help him!"_

" _Please!"_

I sniffed, staring at the wrinkled blankets on Pony's bed and his messed up hair from when Sodapop had clung to him, sobs and wails wrecking his whole body.

Now I didn't want to have the permission to stay in the hospital room after visiting hours.

I only had the permission because of one horrible conclusion.

These were the last hours I would spend with my little brother.

I was only aloud to spend extra time with my brother because it wouldn't last long.

I didn't have long before the doctor unplugged those machines, and the beating rhythm of Ponyboy's heart monitor would be replaced with a steady sound, flat-lining on the device.

Two days to be exact.

Two days to spend with my baby brother.

Two days to tell him how much I loved him.

Two days to tell him how much he means to me and how much he changed my life for the better.

Two days to tell him how sorry I am for the all the arguments we had.

Two days to tell him how sorry I am for always being on his case.

Two days to just hold him in my arms and never let him go.

Two days.

And it would never be enough.

I wondered if Tim Shephard managed to find the gang. One of his gang members was in the hospital after a gang fight that went down that day. He had heard the commotion from Sodapop and recognized my pickup outside. He offered to help.

Really, there wasn't anything to do to "help."

Not when my baby brother had two more days left to live.

But he had offered, and the only thing I could think of was Two-bit, Dally, and Steve.

He knew the answer before I even spoke it, and was out the door in a flash.

I sniffed, and returned my gaze to Ponyboy's fragile, unmoving face.

"Ponyboy?" I said again, my voice barely a whisper.

No answer.

No " _yeah, Dar?"_

No " _What's up?"_

No answer.

"They said your heart stopped, little buddy."

"Said your brain shut down..."

"That you don't have any chance of waking up anymore." My voice cracked. I looked at my feet, and didn't wipe away the tear that had fallen from my eye.

"They said you can't hear me, Pone."

I ran a hand over my stubble covered chin as another tear trailed down my face.

"Can you hear me baby?"

Nothing.

"Can you hear me?"

Nothing.

"You gotta listen, Ponyboy, okay? You got two days kiddo."

"You got two days to show them how strong ya are."

"You got two days to open them sparkly eyes a' yours."

Nothing.

A sob escaped from my lips again, but I didn't cover my mouth.

Another tear.

Then another.

And another.

And pretty soon I had Ponyboy's motionless face in my shaky hands as sobs wrecked my body.

His auburn lashes - standing out against his pale skin - stared back at me.

I thought about my parents.

How they died, the night they died, the pain me and my brothers endured.

It was agony; the pain we had to go through to grieve. I didn't think we could survive it, but somehow, we did.

But it was nothing compared to this.

This was impossible to deal with.

This was the baby of the family.

This was my littlest brother.

This was the little boy who I remembered loved his small stuffed bear, and enjoyed colouring books.

This was the third-grader who skipped to a fourth-grader because of how smart he was.

This was the kid who'd always be day dreaming.

This was the kid who loved Pepsi like a bestfriend.

This was a kid who had already been through too much in his fourteen years.

This was the kid who could sit and watch five different movies in a row and not move out of his chair once.

This was Ponyboy.

And I couldn't say goodbye.

I didn't _want_ to say goodbye.

Even if I knew I would have to.

I had to.

I didn't know where to start.

How do you say goodbye to your little brother?

I opened my mouth, and said the only thing I was able.

The only thing that said it all.

The small sentence that had such a large meaning.

"I love you, kiddo. I love you so much."

And I walked out the door, heading to my other brother, who lay sedated on a hospital bed.

XXXX

Thank you for reading! Hope you all enjoyed this chapter, R & R is appreciated!


	13. Chapter 13

Number One: I am so incredibly sorry this chapter took so long. I know I usually have a new chapter up every week, but this one was seriously incredibly hard to write. I swear, I wasn't slacking off, but getting time in to write and writing this extremely long and important chapter was near impossible I tell you.

Number Two: VERY nerve-wrecking and dramatic chapter. Major cliffhanger. Not to mention long. I mean, near 7000 words long. Yeah, get comfy.

Disclaimers: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. I'm no medical professional, so I apologize if the medical terminology isn't totally correct. Hopefully you can pick out what I mean. All information came from the web and of course the television series Grey's Anatomy.

 **TAKE CARE OF HIM JOHNNY CAKE - CHAPTER 13**

PONYBOY'S POV:

If you would have asked me if I had made my choice in the end, my answer would have been no.

No, I didn't make my choice.

No, I didn't decide that I wanted to live.

No, I didn't decide that I wanted to die.

I _didn't_ make my choice.

If you would have asked me if I was ready to leave my life in the end, my answer would be no.

No, I wasn't ready to leave the gang for good.

No, I wasn't ready to say goodbye to my brothers.

No, I wasn't ready to die at the young age of my fourteen years.

I _wasn't_ ready to die.

But if you would have asked me if I was ready to go back to my life in the end, my answer would once again be _no._

No, I wasn't ready to face the gang, who grew so far apart.

No, I wasn't ready to be yelled at by Darry for unthinkingly running away and not using my head.

No, I wasn't ready to be horribly ignored and forgotten again by Sodapop.

No, I wasn't ready to picked on and bullied by the vengeance-driven socs.

No, I wasn't ready to have to say goodbye to Johnny Cade once again, and face the horrible realization of his permanent absence.

No, I wasn't ready to say goodbye to all the track meets, goodbye to all the cheers of the crowd as my feet crashed rapidly on the smoothed ground, goodbye to all the exciting tournaments.

I _wasn't_ ready to live.

But despite all my unsureness and incapability of officially making the choice, Johnny understood. Just like he always did. Johnny would _always_ understand, and for that I'm grateful, because I didn't think I could say my somewhat decision out-loud. He looked at me with those understanding eyes, gave me an understanding shoulder rub, and understandingly walked to the corner of the room.

Truth is, I wasn't much less confused than I was two days ago.

When Johnny Cake told me I wasn't going to run track anymore, I don't know I just... _broke._

It wasn't just the terrible news of giving up the sport that I loved that made me break. No, it wasn't just that. It was everything.

It was the continues sting of Sodapop's strike and his harsh, harsh words.

It was the echo of Darry's yells and strictness.

It was the deafening silence from Steve.

It was the strained laughs and lack of jokes from Two-bit.

It was the absence of Dallas, who drowned himself in alcohol from the minute the first bird chirped to the last echo of the nightly crickets.

It was everything.

But most of all, it was me.

It was the emptiness, draining the life out of me second by second. That empty hole, growing bigger and bigger every time I would shut my eyes. It was the agonizing loneliness that overcame me throughout the day as my thoughts swarmed of Johnny, my mom and my dad. It was the overwhelming sadness that fled through my veins whenever my eyes laid on one of the gang. It was the choking fear that made it difficult to stand whenever the sound of a soc's angry, hissing voice rang through my ears.

It was everything.

And when one of the only thing I continued to cling onto ended...just like the quick snap of my fingers, everything overtook me. All the emotions, all the despair, all the anger, all the loneliness, just poured out of me.

And glory, we all know how that went.

Once I got control again - after the doctor had revived me or whatever - I went numb. Sure, all the emotions were still there, but they were just... _stagnant._ I couldn't cry anymore, couldn't scream anymore, I just went sort of numb, you dig?

But like I said, I was still confused. I didn't make the choice.

But I made a decision. And Johnny understood. I didn't even have to tell him. He just understood.

I think he was a little disappointed. He just stood in his corner, softly staring at me, as if he expected me to change my mind as each one of the gang started coming up to my body, lying unconscious and pale in the hospital bed.

Steve came first.

It surprised me, but at the same time it didn't. I didn't know whether to expect Steve to sit in a chair while all the gang came by, to expect him not to even come at all, or to expect him to say a small goodbye.

But I expected Soda, Darry, maybe even Two-bit to be first. Not Steve. It made me a bit uncomfortable, not having any clue as to what would happen next.

And trust me, I had no clue _that_ would come out of his mouth.

The door shut behind Steve, no one but him stepping foot inside the quiet room, and he seemed fidgety, restless, like he was having an internal struggle deciding whether not it was a mistake coming here or not.

It took a minute, and at first he wouldn't move past the hospital bed, as if he felt out of place in the white room.

But after a minute, I watched as he brought himself up to the top of the bed, staring down at my body's pale face, and for a minute, I could have sworn he almost held my hand.

He was quiet, which was nothing new nowadays, but this time, I don't know, it wasn't an uncomfortable, snappy silence, it was a sad, mournful silence. And by the frown on his face, the gloominess in his eyes, and the slight tremble in his hands, the silence was deafening.

If it was any other day, I probably would have teased Steve Randle endlessly for seeing any attempt at an emotion other than his tough, mean, expected one, but not that day. Not then. I was surprised, sure, but right then I'd rather Steve's mean remarks and comments other than his sad silence. I'd rather _anything_ from him than his sad silence. It didn't fit Steve, not at all, and I found it hard to stand still just watching him.

"Probably didn't expect me here, did you kid?" He said, not moving his eyes from my face.

But as he started speaking, I took back what I said earlier.

I wouldn't rather anything than his silence. I wouldn't rather this.

"Honestly, I wasn't gonna come. Was gonna probably sit in the waiting room and wait for Soda...you know, wait for the doc's to take you off the machines or whatever. I wasn't plannin' on comin' in." He sniffed.

"But...shoot, I don't know...couldn't sleep I guess. Slept at my own place tonight, decided to give your brothers some space. Barely got in an hour without wakin' up in sweats from dreamin'."

I glanced at the white clock above the door. It read _4:18AM._

"Soda said you used to get nightmares. Wakin' up screamin' and everything. Never thought I'd know how that feels."

"But seriously kid, I wouldn't care if you'd wake up screamin' bloody murder right now. I wouldn't care if you'd bust your damn vocal chords. I wouldn't care if you had a nightmare that'll haunt you for the rest of your life. Just _wake up._ you hear? _Wake up._ It's not all that hard, man, shoot, I'll even slap you if that's what it takes."

Steve's voice cracks a bit and he rubs his chin with his trembling hand.

But he doesn't understand. He _wouldn't_ understand. I don't expect him to. My decision is made.

"Yeah..." Steve sighs. "You know there's a rumble tonight?"

Now _that_ surprised me.

"Yup, an hour after you know...everythin' goes down here. Eight o'clock at night. Set at the vacant lot, same as the uh, same as the last one."

I shut my eyes and forced the heartbreaking memories into the distance, glancing at Johnny in the corner, staring back at me with those big, comforting eyes.

No. There _can't_ be a rumble. There can't. Nothing good will come out of it. Nothing good _ever_ comes out of fighting. I know that now.

"We found the guys who did this to you." Steve's voice cracks again, and his gaze breaks to the window, staring at the dark sky, his sad eyes replaced with anger.

"We found em' kid, and let me tell you, they ain't gettin' away with it."

I want to tell him to let them go. I want to scream it at him.

But even if he _could_ hear me, I know he wouldn't listen. I know he'd probably go through with the rumble anyways.

"Kid, if you think I'm gonna come here and pour my heart out, apologizin' for bein' an asshole and all that, you got another thing comin'." Steve chuckles sadly.

"Yeah, I could really be an asshole, couldn't I?" He sighs. "But you could be a pain in the ass too, you know. A real pain in my ass. A smart ass too."

He smiles, and so do I.

"Just wake up, 'kay? Wake up and I might actually consider you hangin' out with me and Soda. Maybe you might even be able to convince me to sit and watch one of your stupid movies down at the Nightly Double, or read one of your books. God knows you've got too many of those."

I smile again, and I know that's Steve's way of saying sorry.

Even if he said he wouldn't apologize, he did, in his own, weird way. He did.

But he said goodbye, as well. Through the lines, he said goodbye, and I heard it.

So he sighed once more, and walked back out the hospital room door, a glimmer of a tear shone upon his face.

And I sighed too.

"I'm sorry too, Steve. I'm sorry too."

XXXX

Sodapop and Darry showed up around four o'clock that late afternoon, about the same time Darry gets off work, so he probably picked Soda up from the DX on his way to the hospital.

They both did the usual; Sodapop, sat in his chair by my bed, holding my hand while tears swiftly found their way down his movie star face, and Darry sat in the other chair, staring at my unconscious form with a blank expression, not moving an inch.

It was easy to tell they were crumbling.

I didn't blame them. Glory, I didn't, but every time I looked at Sodapop's face I hear his screams feel and his painful punch all over again. Every time I look at Darry I'm reminded of our poor and brittle relationship, featuring daily arguments that would quickly erupt into ear-rattling screaming that could be heard across the street.

I didn't blame them, even if it was the detached relationships with my brothers that played a part in my decision.

I didn't blame them for crumbling.

But I wouldn't change my mind.

XXXX

It was five-o'clock when the rest of the gang showed.

Two hours before the doctor would unplug the machines that were in charge of my slow beating heart.

Two-bit had brought coffee for Sodapop and Darry, even though it was evening outside and Sodapop doesn't even drink it. It was a comforting gesture, and by the dark circles shadowing underneath Darry's blue eyes and the unshaven scruff sticking out along his chin and jawline, Darry hadn't gotten much sleep the past few days. The coffee seemed needed.

Steve immediately ambled over to Sodapop, who's tears had stopped falling, leaving him just quiet and sad.

I had a feeling no one else knew about Steve's visit to my hospital room early this morning. Whilst he sat in one of the extra chairs the nurse brought in and comforted Soda, I caught him glancing expectantly and slightly sadly at my unmoving body, as if I would somehow miraculously wake up and tell everyone of his surprise visitation.

I sighed. _Sorry Steve, guess your secret's safe with me._

Two-bit sat in another chair, quiet and restless looking. Strangely, his eyes anxiously roamed the room; from Darry to Sodapop, to Steve and Dally, to the window and the door, to the floor to the ceiling, but not once did his grey eyes lay upon my sleeping figure in the bed. He refused to look at me, and if his eyes would even accidentally glance upon the smooth blankets on the bed or the shape of my feet in under them, his breath would catch and he would quickly snap his eyes away.

Dally stood leaning against the white wall, arms slightly crossed, eyes staring out the window.

I saw what was undetectable by the others, though. Underneath those cold, blue eyes that were so known to be filled with hatred and uncaringness, there was sadness. Weakening sadness. It poured off of him, but it didn't surprise me that the others didn't notice. They already had so much to think about and besides, no one thinks to look twice at the juvenile delinquent greaser who was raised in New York and always gets arrested. Sure, the gang doesn't see Dallas as just a greasy, no good, hood, but they don't really look. They don't _look._

Johnny did. Johnny could always see Dally. The _real_ Dally, and strangely, Dally didn't mind. Sure he liked to keep his reputation intact, but he let himself relax when Johnny was around. He didn't mind that Johnny saw the emotion inside him, instead, he embraced it.

Which I realize now, is why he loved Johnny so much, and Johnny loved him. In such a wonderful, friendly way.

Johnny quietly comforted Dally, didn't see him as the JD greaser who was raised in New York and always gets arrested, and was a friend whenever Dal needed. Dally protected Johnny as much as he possibly could from the merciless socs on the Tulsa streets and the yells and hits from his unloving parents. Dally looked out for Johnny, just like Johnny looked out for Dally in his own way.

But Dally couldn't always protect Johnny, and when he had died, a piece of Dallas Winston went six-feet-under too.

But I could see the emotion too. When Johnny was alive, he'd tell me about the camouflaged emotion underneath those cold, blue eyes, and eventually, I saw too. And ever since then, it's all I could find myself to see.

In the hospital room, as his blue eyes stare neutrally out the foggy window, the sadness inside easily spotted.

And Johnny saw it too. I could tell.

His place in the corner, watching me as I watched the others, had been replaced to a spot in front of Dally, watching his blue eyes gaze out into the grey parking lot.

Johnny's big black eyes stared at Dal's cold blue ones, and Johnny smiled.

It was a small smile. It held some sadness, some comfort, and some of that understanding, but I recognized the emotion behind it.

Johnny continued to stare at Dallas with that small smile, who was currently oblivious to the invisible form in front of him, and I could tell Johnny was resisting the urge to just hug the guy.

I recognized the emotion.

Johnny wanted to be seen. He wanted Dally's blue eyes to meet his black ones, he wanted to hear the shocked, surprised words that would fly from Dally's mouth the minute he would see him, he wanted to see a smile on his face as his friend miraculously returned.

Johnny wanted to go back.

And for a moment, maybe, just _maybe,_ a small voice inside told me to rethink my decision.

XXXX

It was 6:21PM when Two-bit spoke up.

Steve had managed to drag Soda out of the room and into the cafeteria, but I had a feeling his efforts to get Sodapop to eat something would render useless. Dally had followed, which left Darry and Two-bit in the room.

Darry still hadn't moved. His coffee sit on the side table by his chair, cold and untouched, Soda's beside it.

Two-bit had got up and moved to the chair Soda had been sitting in, which was pulled up directly next to me in the hospital bed.

After what seemed like a painful internal struggle, Two-bit's grey eyes finally found their way upon my pale face. Sadness immediately flooded his features, but he didn't remove his gaze. He opened his mouth, but no sound escaped, so he closed it again.

After a minute, he tried again.

"I remember when you started callin' me Two-bit, Pone."

I looked at him.

"Well, I suppose your ma started it," He said. "But you made it a nick-name."

"You couldn't have been more than two years old or somethin'," He smiled slightly. "You always had trouble sayin' my name. Would always mess it up, never get it right."

"You'd call me everything in the world but Keith, kid. You'd go from _Kith_ , to _keth_ , to _Keet,_ to a damn _kite._ " Two-bit chuckled softly.

So did I.

"Everyone would laugh and correct you, but you didn't have a care in the world. Would just shrug them shoulders and go off on your own again."

"My ma and me came over to your place one day, and the whole gang was there. Everyone but ol' Dallas. He came a few years later." He continued. "Anyways, my ma was gettin' ready to leave and she was waitin' on me to get my ass in gear but hell, you know me, always blabberin' on about somethin.'"

I laughed. _Sounds like you, Two-bit._

"I was too busy chattin' away with Steve and them that I didn't even care that my mama was half way out the door." He smiled. "Your ma just laughs and goes ' _That Keith, always has to get his two-bits worth in, don't he?'_ "

I smiled too. I could have pictured my mom saying something like that. Shoot, I could practically hear her own voice saying it.

"My ma laughs and eventually she gets me in my jacket and out the door." Two-bit smiles again and looks down at his hands, thinking of the memory. "But little did we know, that two year-old Ponyboy already had that _Two-bit_ stuck in his mind."

"Next time you saw me, you called me it." He said. "You looked at me with those green eyes and big smile, shake that hand of yours in a happy wave, and you go ' _Hi Two-bit!_ '"

"Everyone heard it, and we all just kinda brushed it off, thinkin' it was just a one-time thing." He chuckled softly. "But no-siree, every time you'd catch sight of old Keith Mathews coming down the road, you'd call me Two-bit. _Every time._ "

I grinned. I didn't know that happened. I always just figured Two-bit started the nickname his own self or something. Yeah, we all knew his real name was Keith, but we've been calling him Two-bit before I can even remember.

"And after a while, everyone started repeatin' it. I was known as Two-bit Mathews, and everyone in town knew it too."

"I got to thank you though, kid. I like Two-bit _way_ more than I like that old Keith."

Two-bit let out a small laugh, but it quickly turned into a quiet sob, and his smile turned into a frown.

"Which is why it's gonna be mighty different to be walkin' up your front steps and not hearin' you say it." He sniffed. "It ain't the same without you, Ponyboy. Listen to me, it ain't."

"I know it's been real hard standin' on them two feet these days. Boy, do I know it. And kiddo, I'm so sorry I haven't been any help. You've been havin' it rough, and I just stood by and watched."

Two-bit let out a sob and let his head hang low. He sniffed, and brought his head back up, where a tear was making it's way down his face.

I didn't like watching this. Yeah, watching Steve give his last words was pretty hard to witness, but this was harder. I've only seen Two-bit cry once; Johnny's funeral. It wasn't big, not many came to show, we couldn't afford anything giant, but it was enough. Someone gave the pastor information about him so he knew what to say, and not many people went up and spoke. Dallas didn't come; he was busy drowning himself in alcohol at Buck's. But I didn't blame him, Dallas just don't want to face his emotions. He never did. It was just after I had woken up from my concussion, so the whole thing was confusing to me. I was still hazy and tired, so I just sat in my seat and watched the ceremony.

But as it came to an end, and we all got up and readied ourselves to leave, I caught a sight of Two-bit, wiping his face every ten seconds to swipe away any evidence of tears. But they just kept coming, and I knew he was trying real hard to keep it together.

But in the hospital room, watching Two-bit cry, it was even harder to watch. He made no effort to move the tears gliding down his face. Recently, Two-bit's been quiet. I'd never see him come to the house, never hear his loud obnoxious laugh or his jokes and remarks only he would find funny. His absence stung, and everyday I found myself hoping to hear his loud greeting in the house. I told myself _maybe today_ , and when my hopes were in vain, the next day I'd tell myself _maybe today, maybe today, maybe today..._

I hated the gang being so distant, hated the absence of Two-bit Mathews so much I almost had myself convinced _he_ hated _me._

But watching those tears glide down his frowning face and listening to the shaky words out of his mouth left me more confused than ever.

I didn't know _what_ to think.

Did Two-bit hate me? Did Two-bit love me? Did Two-bit want to stay away from me? Did Two-bit feel guilty?

"I'm so sorry, kiddo. So, so, so, so, so, so sorry. I'm _so sorry._ " He sobbed.

"It ain't the same without you, Pone. _Won't_ be the same without you. Hell, _I_ ain't the same without you."

Two-bit stopped talking and continued to stare at me, letting the tears flow down from his grey eyes.

The situation made me uncomfortable. Confusion wrecked my brain and I didn't know whether to cry, be angry, or to be happy. I stood on the other side of my hospital bed, biting my nails and tapping my right foot. I felt out of place, like I shouldn't be here eavesdropping as Two-bit's flood gates burst open.

Johnny just stayed in his corner, moving his eyes back and fourth between Two-bit and myself, watching me. He didn't hold any specific emotion to his eyes, he didn't seem sad, didn't seem mad, didn't seem happy or expectant, he just watched with those big understanding eyes. Like he knew how I felt, like he could read my mind.

Darry still sat in his chair, his eyes not leaving my pale body. He rested his elbows on his knees, and folded his hands together motionless. His blue eyes were emotionless but sad at the same time. The look was definitely foreign; the only time I've ever seen those blue eyes almost as sad was the night our parents had passed. Darry's sorrowful eyes and slumped shoulders was not a look I would be forgetting soon.

But now, Darry's icy eyes are more difficult to look at. They're more despairing, more quieter, more blank. And one, four-letter word was at fault.

 _Hope._

When the news was given of our parent's deaths, there wasn't much hope to be spotted. It was official then. My parents weren't fighting for their life, they weren't dying, they weren't comatose in a stale white hospital room. They were _gone._ Sure, me and my brothers wanted them to be alive, we didn't _want_ them to be dead, but there was nothing we could do. No chair to sit in beside our mom and dad's hospital bed, no hospital bills to sweat upon, no doctor to discuss their situation, no _hope_ for them to pull through.

But it was different for me. Different for Darry. Different for the gang.

I wasn't gone yet. I was still lying in the uncomfortable hospital bed inside the stale white hospital room. There were chairs to sit in beside me, there were hospital bills for Sodapop and Darry to sweat upon, there was a doctor for them to discuss my situation.

And even if today was the day I would _go_ , I was still _here._ Not yet gone, not yet passed, not yet dead.

And it made them hope. Hope I would wake up, hope I would pull through.

Acceptance was near impossible when I was still _alive._ No matter how many goodbyes and farewells they would speak, hope still lingered inside them, clouding the acceptance.

Hope is dangerous. It has the power to unrepairable destroy someone.

And it's why Darry's eyes were so sad and hurting. He couldn't push away that _hope._

Two-bit stood up out of his chair, and a long sigh escaped his quivering lips. His hands were shaking just as much, and one of them reached out and gently stroked my motionless shoulder.

His hand fell back to his side, and he began walking to the grey hospital door. His steps were slow and shaky, but he managed to stay upright.

The doorknob turned under his hand, and the door steadily opened.

His head turned to Darry, who didn't return the gaze. Then his teary grey eyes turned back to me, lying still underneath the blue hospital blankets.

"I love you, kid. Just like a brother."

And the door shut behind him, leaving a sorrowful Darry, a soft gazing Johnny, and a very confused _me._

XXXX

It was 7:06PM when Dr. Johnson entered the room, with a sympathetic look on his features.

I wondered what he was doing for the six minutes passed. Was he bracing himself for the difficult task he was planned to do? Was he checking to make sure there was anything he had missed about my condition? Was he looking for any last minute treatments? Was he giving the gang some extra time? Or did he really just forget about the next thing on his busy schedule.

It didn't matter. Either way, he was here, ready to unplug the machines that kept my heart steadily beating.

"Are you all ready?" The doctor softly asked, but I winced. The question was useless. Of course they weren't ready.

Everyone looked up to the bald-headed man. Even Darry.

"There's gotta be somethin' you can do," Sodapop pleaded quietly. " _Something._ "

"Soda..." Darry spoke up.

"No, Darry. There's got to be somethin' you can do for him, doc. You- you can't just let him die."

Dr. Johnson sighed. "I'm sorry, son. This is the only option for Ponyboy."

"What do you mean the ' _only option'_?" Dallas snapped. "What about helpin' him? Isn't that what you doctors are supposed to do? _Help people?_ "

"I'm afraid there's nothing we can do for Ponyboy anymore. His chances of returning to consciousness are gone to impossible. His brain lacks any activity readable, resulting in him being in a vegetative state. The machines you see are the only things keeping him somewhat alive."

"Somewhat?" Steve spoke up.

"The machines keep Ponyboy's heart beating at a constant rate, but as I said, his brain no longer functions. As hard as it may sound, Ponyboy is gone. What you see here is just a body with a beating heart."

The room went quiet. Most eyes turned back to the still figure in the hospital bed.

"Bullshit." Dally barked. "Brain function or not, that kid's wakin' up. You don't know him. He's a strong kid."

I smiled slightly. It's not every day you get a kind word spoken of you from Dallas Winston.

"Strong or not, there are just some conditions our bodies cannot recover from. This is one."

"Just...please...give him some more time." Soda sniveled. " _Please._ "

"I'm with Soda on this one." Dally added. "You can't just let the kid die."

"I'm sorry, I know how hard it is to hear, but it is the only option for Ponyboy. He will not wake up." The doctor says sympathetically.

The silence in the room returns, and Dr. Johnson takes it as an opportunity to walk over to the beeping machines as Dallas drops his head down to his chest with a sad sigh.

Sodapop's sobs started up again, and his body shook with every breath he took. Steve laid a hand on his back, offering any comfort he could offer, but it made little difference to the heartbroken Soda.

"I'm going to start now. You can sit by him if you like." The doctor said, gesturing to Darry.

Darry slightly nodded his head, stood up, and shakily brought his chair over to the side of my hospital bed.

"Please...please...please." Soda sobbed.

But Sodapop's begs were ignored, as Dr. Johnson reached over to one of the six machines, and with a small flick of a switch, the machine _whooshed_ , and the little blinking lights on the front turned to a dull grey as the power was shut off.

"Now would be the time to say your goodbyes, if you like." The doctor softly said.

I felt the air race out of my lungs. I couldn't bear anymore goodbyes.

"Can... -can he hear us?" Darry spoke up, surprising me how small his voice sounded.

Dr. Johnson sighed. "That is not known for sure. But we like to believe they can."

"Darry...no..." Soda sniffed.

Darry let out a trembling breath. "Kiddo..." He said, bringing his hand up and gently caressing the side of my pale face.

"No..."

"Kiddo, I love you." Darry whispered, blinking as a tear fell down past his eye.

"No Dar, stop it." Sodapop begged. " _Stop it._ "

Another switched was flipped by Dr. Johnson, another _whoosh_ filled the room, and another blinking light went grey as another machine was shut down.

 _Two out of six._

I sniffed, and a tear of my own fell past my eye. It was all happening too fast, I needed time to think. There was no time to think, _it was all happening too fast._

"I love you, kiddo. So much." Darry attempted a soft smile, but it quickly turned into a frown, and his hand went back to joining mine as he held his head low.

"Stop it...please.." Soda bawled.

But the third switch was flipped, the third _whoosh_ filled the room, and the third blinking light shut down.

 _Three out of six._

I was overwhelmed. My breath came out in pants and I couldn't control the tears flowing from my eyes.

"So damn much." Darry trembled.

The doctor walked over to the other side of the bed, and reached underneath another machine.

"Pony...please..." Soda held my limp hand between two of his, and held it up to his shaking lips as his elbows rested on the bed.

 _Flick._

 _Whoosh._

And the lights went dull.

 _Four out of six._

"Johnny..." I sobbed, as a familiar hand gently rubbed my shoulder.

"Get him to stop, Johnny. Get him to wait."

Darry's eyes clenched shut and his lips were a thin line.

"No...no...please..." Soda pleaded. " _Please!_ "

 _Flick._

 _Whoosh._

And for the fifth time, those small blinking lights on the machine dulled to a grey as the device's power completely shut down.

"No, Johnny, get him to stop. Get him to stop Johnny."

Soda's wails and cries echoed through the room, and for a moment, he removed his eyes from the pale face lying on the hospital bed.

But in that moment, in that _small moment_ , he saw me.

I stood there in that moment, sniveling and shedding tears of my own as Johnny Cade stood by my side, and I watched Sodapop. But as Soda wept and sobs shook his entire body, he looked up at the end of the hospital bed, and he watched _me._ His big, sad brown eyes met my greenish-grey ones. His eyebrows furrowed, his eyes squinted, and his head shakily turned, but in that moment, he still _saw_ me.

But I saw him, too.

I saw Sodapop.

I saw my big brother.

I felt his loving arms wrap gently around my shoulders and I heard his soft, reassuring words during the nights my nightmare would leave me shaking and scared.

I felt his strong, protective hold as he gave one of his firm, warm hugs.

I felt his soft hand smooth back my hair on my forehead as I lay down, and his gentle, soothing rub on my back as I'm sick in the bathroom.

I heard his heart-warming laugh and his goofy outbursts of song along to the radio.

I heard his confidant, understanding advice if I was upset or had a problem.

I saw his kind-hearted smile and felt his giggled featured tickles in the morning as he woke me out of my sleep.

I saw my big brother.

I saw Sodapop.

And I wondered how the hell I believed he hated me. How I believed _I_ hated _him._

And all I wanted to do was feel his strong, protective hold from one of his firm, warm hugs.

But Dr. Johnson already had the mask and tube that held the remainder of my life in his white, gloved hands.

 _"Johnny, do something!" I pleaded. "Please, Johnny! I want to go back!"_

Soda's eyes were back on the unconscious body underneath the hospital blankets, and I became frantic.

 _"Please, Johnny! I want to go back!"  
_  
But with a small tug, the mask and tub holding onto my life was removed from my pale, motionless face, and sat in the gloved white hands of Dr. Johnson.

"Ponyboy...please..." Sodapop bawled.

 _"Johnny!"_

A long breath escaped my pale lips, and my small chest slowly dropped.

 _"Please! I want to go back!"_

"Don't do this to me, baby." Soda begged. "Don't do this!"

No air returned back into my lungs, and my small chest didn't rise once more.

"Baby, please..."

 _"Take me back, Johnny, please!"_

And the sixth and last machine, which was once rhythmically beeping along with my beating heart sounded a long, high pitched beep, flat lining across the screen.

"No..."

 _"Johnny, no!"_

Dr. Johnson's arm gently reached across to the last machine.

"Baby, don't do this..."

 _"Please, Johnny, take me back!"_

The doctor's hand drifted to the back of the device.

 _"No! Wait!"_

With a flick, the plastic screen turned black, and the high pitched sound ceased to continue.

 _"Please!"_

With a _whoosh_ , the last remaining sounds of the machine went to silence.

 _"I want to live, Johnny!" I sobbed. "I want to live!"_

Johnny looked at me with those big, black, understanding eyes and released a small, warm smile.

And as the sixth machine's power officially shut down, the bright blinking lights scattering the front dulled to a complete grey.

XXXX

SODAPOP'S POV:

Every time I attempted to breathe, a wheezing sound escaped my quivering lips.

Because even though I just watched my little brother's last breath escape his lungs, it felt like it was my last breath, too.

I couldn't control the sobs that wrecked my body. Everything hurt.

God, it hurt so much.

I swore I saw him. Instead of seeing his pale, injured body lying underneath the blue hospital blankets I saw him standing. On the end of the bed, watching me with his big, teary green-grey eyes as I watched him with mine.

But then I couldn't see him anymore, and the next thing I knew, the heart monitor started ringing out a high-pitched flat line and his big, teary green-grey eyes went back to the pale, motionless, shut ones.

His eyes.

He's always claimed them to be more grey than green. Always said he hated the green.

Honestly, neither grey nor green is the most dominant to me. His eyes are a mixture of both whenever I see them.

I don't really see what the big deal is; either shining grey or deep green, they're still _his._

His big, sparkly eyes, that would light up at the sight of a new book, soften as his big loving heart would take over, look down at his feet when he got embarrassed, squeeze shut as I'd tickle him silly in the morning for school.

I don't really see what the big deal is, they're still his big sparkly eyes. They're still _Ponyboy's._

But that smug, agreeing grin he would reveal whenever someone complimented his "grey" eyes or that cute annoyed huff he would let out whenever they said "green" was enough to make me agree. Even if I secretly didn't.

 _"They're not green, Sodapop, they're grey."_ He had said one day, rolling those "grey" eyes at me.

 _"What's the difference?"_

 _He looked at me with a stunned expression which screamed 'what did you just ask me?'_

 _"Okay, okay," I grinned. "But what's the big deal if they're either green or grey, kiddo?"_

 _"I don't like green eyes. And if I don't like em', I ain't havin' em."_ _I laughed, as he gave me one of his cocky smiles._

 _"Roger that, Pone. Grey it is."_

I stared at his pale, closed eyelids, and I just wanted to see those grey-green eyes of his.

One last time.

Just one last time.

Tears fled out of my own dark brown ones uncontrollably, and every inch of my body shook.

Darry's blue ones were closed shut, as tears leaked out through the corners, and his head rested on Pony's hand that he held in his own.

Steve's brownish-blue ones stayed upon me, sad and steady, not able to gaze upon the still boy in the bed.

Two-bit's dark grey ones not moving past Ponyboy's frail form, and as tears found their way down his face and past his chin, he made no attempt in swiping them away.

Dally's icy blue ones stared out the foggy window, emotionless and blank. I wondered if Pony would be able to read past the inexpressive icy eyes like he always claimed to be able to do.

But Ponyboy's sparkly green-grey ones remained shut.

"I'm very sorry for your loss." The doctor said sympathetically, but it didn't smooth the edges of the sentence even a little.

He nodded slightly to himself and started towards the door, attempting to step out quietly.

The door handle turned under his hand, and the grey door steadily opened with a small click.

But before he stepped out, my guilt stricken dark brown eyes, Darry's heart-broken blue ones, Steve's unaccepting brownish-blue ones, Two-bit's sorrowful dark grey ones, and Dally's numb icy blue ones all turned to the source of a small gasp of breath from the frail figure lying in the hospital bed.

And there, staring back at me were those sparkly, grey-green eyes.

 _His_ eyes.

"Ponyboy."

XXXX

Didn't I tell you there would be some happiness in this story, too? ;)

Thank you for reading, R & R is greatly appreciated.

See you for the next, and final chapter!


	14. Chapter 14

Okay, so I'm going to attempt to say everything here, just because I don't really want to ruin the ending at the bottom.

Three months ago I started this story, unsure of how it would plan out, unsure of how it would be liked, unsure of everything. And now, I just want to say thank you.

Thank you to every one who even read just one damn word on the page.

Thank you for the reviews, follows, and favourites, and all the continued support. (I'm getting teary here.)

Sorry for the wait for this chapter, but honestly, I didn't want it to end. I didn't want to say goodbye to this story. But...I must, and I hope this ending chapter does anything but disappoint.

Disclaimers: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Minor swearing.

 **TAKE CARE OF HIM JOHNNY CAKE - CHAPTER 14**

PONYBOY'S POV:

Air rushed into my lungs as a quick, semi-loud gasp escaped my mouth, and my chest abruptly rose from the unmoving, flat position it was in previously.

I quickly adjusted to the new oxygen filling my functional lungs, and I was able to get back into the somewhat steady rhythm of my breathing. When I did, I started becoming more aware. I felt an uncomfortable, heavy object surrounding and holding my right foot, a cold, thick pillow beneath my head, stiff, thin blankets covering my left leg up to the top of my hips, a firm, heavy bandage wrapped around my upper abdomen, and the cool air tickling my bare arms and face.

Surprisingly, it didn't take as much strength and effort to open my eyes as I had expected. I started with small slits, adjusting my eyes to the bright light of the room I was currently lying in. I swallowed and rubbed my tongue along the insides of my mouth in attempt to relieve the dryness, but it was in vain. I slowly blinked, and when my eyes reopened, they were opened fully, letting me examine the white hospital room surrounding me.

I don't know if it was accident, habit, or just plain instinct, but my eyes immediately reached those of Sodapop's, whose were sparkling with tears, the brown, shiny and wide.

"Ponyboy."

His voice cracked, and was barely over a whisper, but I heard him. _Everyone_ heard him, whose eyes I felt staring at mine too.

I looked around swiftly, catching sight of all the gang - Sodapop, sitting beside me, holding my hand while Darry held the other, Steve, standing beside Soda, his mouth hanging open stiffly, Two-bit, standing by one of the walls, one of his hands covering his mouth, Dallas, leaning against the opposite wall, his brows furrowed and hinted with secret concern and amazement, and man I recognized as my doctor, standing by the grey door, blinking his eyes rapidly.

I opened my mouth, and urged a word out of my mouth, but all that came out was a grunt and a gasp as a sharp jolt of pain ran through my body.

The pain was dull at first; a small ache here and there, but then it all came at once at full blow. My right leg pulsed with terrible pain at a steady rhythm, many locations around my body, stinging and burning, and my left upper-abdomen - it was agony. It screamed at me, and it was if my insides were tearing themselves apart as they ached and pulsed.

I groaned, and quickly shut my eyes, squeezing them together from the pain. My hands gripped the blankets so hard they shook, and I felt large, muscular hands gently caressing my forehead, smoothing the hair back from my face, and I immediately recognized them as Darry's.

"Pony?" He said, his voice gentle and comforting. "What's goin' on, kiddo?"

"...hurts." I manage to get out, groaning.

"What hurts, Pone?"

"Everything, Dar." I choke. "Everything hurts."

"Okay, it's gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay." He shushed, continue to smooth my hair back from my sweaty forehead.

Quick footsteps ushered towards the bed I was in, following the touch of a cool, metal object pressed upon my chest. I cracked open my eyes, watching as the doctor listened to the stethoscope sitting upon his ears, his eyes astonished and confused.

Another wave of pain surged through my right leg, causing my eyes to shut once again, and a loud gasp escaped my lips.

"D-Darry..." I called out, desperate for the pain to just _go away_.

"Hey!" A loud, urgent voice filled the room. "Do somethin' for Christ sake - he's in pain!"

 _Dally._

"We'll have to - _hey son, push that big red button over there_ \- insert another - _yeah that one_ \- IV..."

Dr. Johnson's footsteps hurried around my bed, following another flick of a switch, making my breathing quicken.

 _No, no, not again._

But instead of the familiar frightful _whooshing_ sound, a soft revving noise filled the hospital room, and when I managed to look at the source of the sound, the dull grey circles scattering the front of one of the machines were back to the bright, colour-filled lights, full of power once again.

My leg throbbed and my abdomen screamed as several nurses entered the room, immediately rushing over to my bed, gently ushering the gang out the door despite their desperate refusals.

Once the grey hospital door had shut behind my brothers and the gang, leaving me trembling in pain as the medical staff turned back on all six machines and poked and prodded at my body, I felt lonely.

I wanted Darry's strong hand, back to smoothing my hair past my forehead.

I wanted Sodapop's gentle hold on my own hand, caressing my thumb as it shook.

I wanted the gang back in the room to fill the loneliness that ran through me.

As one of the nurses took a wet pad and cleaned the inside of my left elbow, my eyes scanned the white hospital room.

I brought my eyes to the familiar top left corner in the room, searching.

Dr. Johnson quickly inserted a long needle into the fold of my elbow, holding it as a nurse taped it in place. The pain from the tiny sharp item as it pierced my vein was unnoticeable, the terrible pain from the rest of my body overpowered it greatly.

My eyelids grew heavy as my eyes scanned the room; scanned the room for him. My eyes searched high and low, side to side, but what I was looking for was nowhere to be found.

His understanding corner, where he once stood with those understanding eyes and that understanding expression, lay empty, as if he was never there.

He wasn't there.

His small hands didn't sit in the pockets of his collared jean jacket that rested upon his small shoulders.

His grey shoes that were a size slightly smaller than that of his feet didn't walk across the room, slowly and gently with his long, untied shoelaces that dangled to the floor.

His jet-black, heavily greased hair didn't hang across his forehead.

His big black eyes didn't look up from under his long bangs, their sad, warm expression enough to melt a criminal's heart.

His gentle, crooked smile didn't stretch across his face, leaving you unable to stop yourself from smiling too.

His warm, comforting voice didn't sound through the room, it's melody heartfelt and reassuring.

The sharp pain in my abdomen and the deep throb in my leg quickly transformed to a dull ache, and my limbs grew heavy.

The white walls of the hospital room grew fuzzy and unclear, and it was a strong task to keep my eyes open.

As my eyelids grew too heavy to stay raised, and sleep began to overtake my weak, frail body, my grey eyes found themselves searching the corner one last time.

But it was empty.

Johnny Cake wasn't there.

XXXX

SODAPOP'S POV:

"Soda!" Darry called, pulling me from my comfortable sleep. "Time to get up!"

I groaned, and rolled onto my back, pulling the soft comforter up to my chin lazily. I slowly opened my heavy eyes, squinting as bright morning sun rays beamed through the holes in the blinds and onto my face.

My arm slid over to the other side of the bed, relaxing in the cool sheets beneath it. I smiled to myself, and rolled my whole body onto the empty side of the bed, grabbing the cool untouched pillow and pulling it to my face.

Today was the day that empty side would be filled.

Today was the day that cool untouched pillow would be rested on, letting a pool of drool sit on the white cover.

Today was the day those sheets would be ruffled and folded randomly around a fourteen year old boy as it did before.

 _Today_ was the day Ponyboy would come home from the hospital, and to say I was excited for those two feet of his to walk through the door would be a massive understatement right there.

I managed to pull myself out of bed, refusing to be late on this long-waited-for day. Even if me and Darry had to work, I wasn't going to let that stop me from seeing Pony before I go. After all, I'm sure he'd be happy to be informed of his hospital discharge scheduled for later this evening. One week of sitting in a stiff hospital bed with nothing to eat but crappy hospital food and the doctors and nurses poking an prodding at the said "miracle boy" was enough to drive anyone mad. Especially Pony, who was never fond of the medical building in the first place.

My hands dug through the brown wooden dresser, pulling out a pair of faded jeans (that were slightly too short but it doesn't matter) and a white T-shirt, grabbing my-... wait, where _was_ my DX shirt?

I ran out the door leaving the messy bed unmade, and headed into the bathroom, deciding to skip the shower in order to spend even a minute extra with Ponyboy. I brushed my teeth, scanning the small bathroom for any sign of that missing DX shirt between spits. I splashed some water on my face, did my nature's duty, and greased my hair, carefully brushing it to the side the way I liked it, nodding to myself in the mirror when I was satisfied with the outcome of my greased golden locks.

A strong aroma of bacon swarmed around me as I entered the kitchen, watching as Darry poured up a glass of coffee for himself and a glass of chocolate milk for me.

 _Today was the day there'd be a third glass set out._ I thought, smiling slightly.

I took my regular seat at the table, keeping my eyes on Darry as he laid a plate of crispy bacon in the center of the table.

But an enormous smile stretched warmly across my face, letting my white teeth show as another plate was put on the wooden table, filled with a few hardboiled eggs, no other than Ponyboy's favourite.

Darry must've caught sight of my large grin as he took his own seat at the table, letting off a small smile of his own.

"I know he isn't exactly here to eat it or anything," He said gently. "But it just seems fit, you dig?"

I nodded, still holding that happy smile of mine as I threw a piece of bacon in my mouth.

"I dig, Dar." I said. "I dig real good."

I quickly finished my plate, eager to get to the hospital, and took a quick glance at the clock.

 _7:49AM._

"Hey, Darry? Runnin' late today?" I said, thinking of Darry's 7:30 shift.

His head shot up to the clock on the wall, followed by a quiet train of swear words falling out of his mouth. He downed his coffee, threw the mug in the sink with a _clang_ , and grabbed his coat, ready to head out.

"You goin' to see Ponyboy today?" He called, grabbing his tool belt.

"You bet! Steve's pickin' me up." I called back, dropping the rest of the dirty dishes into the empty sink.

"Alright. Tell him hi for me, 'kay?"

"Will do!"

"Thanks, little buddy." He smiled. "Alright, see ya."

I waved a hand, but reached it out quickly before he walked out the front door.

"Wait!" I called. "You seen my DX shirt?"

Darry chuckled, shaking his head. "My room, Sodapop. I ironed again."

The door shut behind him, and a moment later the rumbled engine of his pickup sounded in the driveway, heading down the road with Darry in tow.

I smiled, hauling on the blue buttoned-down shirt, pulling up the collar with confidence, and plopping the blue matching cap onto my styled golden blonde hair.

I smiled, quickly wrapping plastic wrap over a small plate of eggs and bacon for Pony.

I smiled as Steve's loud-engine car pulled into the driveway, followed by a loud call from the opened window of the driver's side.

"Hey Soda, you ready to go?"

I smiled, shoving on the first pair of shoes I saw laying on the floor, not caring if they didn't even match.

I smiled, feeling the cool air tickle my bare arms as I headed onto the porch.

I smiled, walking up to the running car holding my bestfriend.

I smiled, feeling the sun upon my face.

I smiled, and for once in a long time,

I meant it.

"Yeah, I'm ready."

XXXX

"Nuhhh, go away...it's too early."

"You'd think after bein' in a coma, the kid would've had enough sleep."

I rolled my eyes, and sent Steve a glare.

"Pony, we got eggs and bacon. Hardboiled; just the way you like em'." I said cheerfully.

Ponyboy groaned, and pulled his blankets up higher.

"Well okay then, we'll leave," I said, pretending to sound agreeing. "Guess we'll just have to postpone that discharge for another week."

Now _that_ got him up.

"What?!" He sat up, his pillow rolling off the bed and onto the floor. "When?!"

I chuckled, and walked over to him, setting the breakfast plate on the table.

"Later this evening. Around 6:30." I said, retrieving his fallen pillow.

He smiled widely, but it slowly turned to a frown, and a grimace escaped his lips.

"Pone? What's wrong?"

"Hurts." He let out, and I immediately went to his side.

"What hurts, honey?"

His hand shakily went to the white bandage wrapped around his upper-abdomen, where stitches from the stab wound and surgery sit.

I brought my hand to his face and cupped his cheek gently, attempting to comfort him as I glanced over to Steve, who was already on his way out the door to get a nurse.

"Its...okay. It...happens sometimes." Pony breathed.

I just nodded, trying to sooth him as we waited for the painful wave to pass. It had happened before. He'd just get this surge of pain from his side, or his leg or something randomly. The doctor said it was normal, that it was just an effect of his body's attempt of healing itself. Some pain killers would do the trick, or he could just ride it out.

Steve and the nurse entered the room, and the nurse quickly gave Ponyboy some medicine to take away the pain, his body immediately relaxing.

I took hold of Pony's hand, and listened to Steve's footsteps leave the room to give us privacy.

I watched him, guilt beginning to slide it's way through my veins.

 _If only I hadn't made him leave...if only I hadn't said what I said...if only-_

"Soda, stop it."

Pony's green-grey eyes were serious and comforting, his eyelids heavy above them.

I just sighed, and shut my eyes, not letting any tears find their way down my face.

"This ain't your fault, Sodapop." His hand squeezed my own. "Okay?"

I nodded, not opening my eyes.

"Sodapop, look at me, please?"

I opened my brown eyes, locking our gaze, watching as his eyes expressed so much comfort.

"I forgive you, Soda. I forgive you. It ain't your fault."

I nodded again, but this time I didn't shut my eyes, thinking of the first time he said that to me in the hospital.

 _"I forgive you Soda. You hear me? I forgive you." He said, his eyes strong, but leaking tears of his own._

 _"How can you say that?" I sniffed, looking into his eyes. "How can you say that so easily?"_

 _"Soda..."_

 _"No, Ponyboy. The things I said to you, the things I screamed at you...I...I've never...I don't..."_

 _"Sodapop..."_

 _"Pony, I hit you! I hit you...I did...I really did. Pony how can you forgive me for that? How can I forgive_ myself _for that?"_

 _"Okay,_ yes _, you_ did _scream at me. You_ did _say horrible things to me. Things I've never thought I'd hear come out of your mouth. And yes, they hurt. They hurt so much, Soda. So, so much. And yes, you did hit me. And that hurt too. It really hurt. Glory, did it hurt...but you want to know why I forgive you?"_

 _I looked at him, barely able to see him clearly from the amount of tears swelled up in my eyes._

 _"Because I love you, Soda."_

 _I let out a sob._

 _"Because your my big brother. Because even if you hurt me, you're still my big brother. Your my handsome, movie star, big brother who'd do anything and everything for me, Soda. I forgave you because I love you."_

 _"I forgave you because I know you love me too."_

 _"I forgave you because I need you. I need my big brother."_

 _"I forgave you because I know you need me too."_

 _"I forgave you because I love you, Soda. I_ love _you."_

 _I pulled him in my arms, sobs wrecking my body, tears pooling out of both of our eyes, both of us shaking._

 _"Oh, kiddo." I sniffed._

 _"I love you, Ponyboy. Goddammit, I love you so much."_

 _"I know."_

"I know." I said, smiling softly as his eyes struggled to stay open.

He smiled back, drowsily.

"Get some rest, kiddo." I said, gently kissing his forehead. "Darry and me will be back later."

I took a deep breath, watched him until his breathing slowed and sleep took over him.

"I love you, baby."

And I know you love me too.

XXXX

PONYBOY'S POV:

"Okay, Ponyboy, remember what the doctor told you?" The nurse said, her tone kind but lecturing.

She went by Nurse Teleen in the hospital, but "just between me and her" she secretly let me call her by her fist name, Christa. I'm positive she told other patients the same thing despite her denies of doing so, but nonetheless, it still made me smile whenever her first name rolled off of my tongue.

I liked her.

She was warm, gentle, and she could joke and laugh unlike many other medical staff in the hospital always carrying that annoying seriousness. Sure, many times that seriousness was acquired, that there are times it is impossible to be anything _but_ serious, and don't get me wrong, Nurse Teleen can be serious when she wants to. Like the days when the pain is noticeably worse than the others, or when Dr. Johnson announces new dreadful outcome is possible. She gets serious then; makes sure I have my meds, makes sure I'm doing okay, makes sure she's _doing her job._

Her chocolate brown hair was pulled into a clean bun, a couple stray hairs curling down behind her ears. She liked to smile, showing her perfect straight teeth, shimmering white and full of cheeriness. Freckles scattered her body; her face, arms, and anywhere visible had at least some of the small brown marks. Her dark brown eyes twinkled, and her small pearl stud earrings shimmered and stood out greatly.

But truth is, I don't think I could have got through those hard days with any other nurse but her. Because when the pain is noticeably worse than it usually is, or when another outcome to my situation is brought to the light, she's there, with her big cheery grin and sparkly pearl earrings, helping me through it.

I expected her to be in her late twenties, early thirties, but she always refused to tell me. I'd get it out of her sometime.

"Yeah, yeah. No stretchin', plenty of lyin' down, check for high blood pressure and blood in the bathroom, stitches removed in a week, got it Christa."

She laughed, showing her pearly white teeth.

"Well, yes, but I was talking about your broken foot."

"Oh," I smiled, glancing at Darry and Soda beside my hospital bed as I sat up, throwing both legs over the side. "When is the cast coming off again?"

"Three to four months. You should get if off in January, but if not it'll be another month, February."

I sighed. I had been getting taught and trained how to use my new crutches every day since I had woken up, and I still haven't hated them any less.

"Don't worry, Pony." Soda rubbed my shoulder affectionately. "Three months ain't so long. Think of it as a New Years gift."

"It won't be so bad." Christa smiled. "You're a lucky one, Ponyboy."

"So you're sure? He'll get full use of his foot? It'll heal?" Darry asked.

"Miraculously, yes, it looks like he will. Dr. Johnson did test after test, scan after scan, and everything seems like it's healing perfectly. Extremely better than it had been when the injury took place." Christa nodded. "Originally, Ponyboy's foot would have taken nearly a year to even _somewhat_ heal, and even then he would still have a limp, unable to properly use it."

"Hear that, Pone?" My little brother's a miracle!" Soda smiled, cheerfully.

I grinned, nodding my head as my eyes scanned my white casted left foot.

"Speaking of Dr. Johnson, where is he, anyways?" I asked.

"Oh, he's caught up with another patient. Don't worry honey, he wouldn't let you leave without saying goodbye." Christa rubbed my arm warmly.

I nodded, wondering what the bald-headed doctor was up to.

I didn't want to leave without seeing him, as much as I wanted to get out of here and back home. When I had woken up, he was so amazed and confused how I even managed to open my eyes. He did tests, scans, X-rays, and even after that, nothing could explain how I was living and breathing.

Honestly, I knew the answer. I knew the reason why my heart was beating and my brain was functioning. I knew the reason my unrepairable broken leg was suddenly perfectly healing, I knew the reason I would still be able to run track.

So truth is, I felt bad for the guy. Shoot, the doctor's left clueless and confused on how a dead fourteen year old woke up and moved. And he'd probably never find the answer to how the heck it happened. He'd just have to let me go, and continuing wonderingly scratching his hairless head for the rest of his days.

"So why don't me and Darry go and sign the last bit of paperwork, while you and Sodapop grab your things and get dressed. By then we'll have you ready to go and Dr. Johnson will probably be done with his other patient." Christa said. "Sound good, Ponyboy?"

I nodded, and she and Darry headed out the door, leaving me and Sodapop.

I grabbed my crutches that were rested on the end of the bed, and stood up as Soda began grabbing the several "Get Well Soon" cards that scattered the table and into the small duffel bag he and Darry brought.

"Geez Pone, who brought all these?"

"A lot of the nurses brought them. They stop in to see me too sometimes." I smiled. "They're real nice."

He smiled too. "I bet."

I used my crutches to walk over to Soda who was throwing my books that the gang had brought me into the bag. As he turned, about to walk over to the other table, I attempted to move too, but one of my crutches got blocked by one of the metal legs of the table, making me lose my balance, stumbling onto Soda who had dropped the duffel in the process.

"Woah!" Soda smiled comfortingly, helping me back on my feet. "You okay, Ponyboy?"

I sighed, tempted to just take the stupid crutches and throw them somewhere.

"Yeah...I'm okay. I just can't wait to get this cast off...just get it off and run."

I can't wait to feel my feet hit the ground with loud _smacks_ as I would run past the finish line.

I can't wait to feel my old running shoes tied on my feet, ready to set off.

I can't wait to feel the cool morning floor beneath my bare feet as I got up for school.

I can't wait to wave to Soda, Darry and the gang who would sit in the crowd, cheering me on as I ran for first place.

I can't wait to feel my fully healed foot, perfect and good as new.

I can't wait to _run_.

Soda chuckled. "You will Pone. You will."

And there is one person to thank.

XXXX

"Look at you, Ponyboy!" Soda whistled. "Only ten feet outta' the hospital and you've already mastered the art of the crutches."

"Sure he has!" Christa joined in. "A natural pro you are, honey."

I blushed, focused on getting cross the parking lot and to Darry's pickup.

It was my first time really walking out and about with my crutches, and as the metal sticks helped me make the small journey, my brothers, Christa and Dr. Johnson all gave me reassuring words, cheering me on.

"Steady, Ponyboy, steady."

"Woohoo! Let's go Pone!"

"Okay, now put your weight there...yes...now step...great, good job."

"You're doing great, honey!"

After my arms ached and began to sweat despite the chilly weather, Darry's chipped, dark blue painted pickup truck was by my side and fifteen metres of pavement was left behind me.

Dr. Johnson and Christa were by my side, helping me rest on the side of the truck, giving me small congratulations on the achievement.

Darry put the bag of my prescriptions and the duffel bag full of my things in the back of the truck, then headed over to Soda, Dr. Johnson and Christa who were discussing how the next three months for me would go.

I tried to concentrate what they were saying, the topic was _me_ after all, but the glowing sunset slowly dropping in the sky had most of my attention.

"No weight on-..."

"Medication...pain.."

"Checkups..."

The setting sun gleamed it's red and orange colours, painting the pavement as the day started coming to an end.

I went to the other side of the truck, letting my back lean against the side and the sky's bright colours shine upon me.

I zoned out the voices of the others, continuously staring at the beautiful picture painted in front of me.

"Ready to go, hon'?"

I turned my head, gazing at the colours shining upon Christa's face, her chocolate brown hair shining orange and yellow.

I didn't answer, continuing to watch the drooping sun, and as Christa saw my gaze, she joined me.

"Wow," She whistled. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

It was. It was beautiful. So, so beautiful.

The sunset decorated Tulsa with it's gleaming colours, making the windows twinkle and the dark colours brighten.

It shone upon the other people, sitting or standing by the hospital, who were unable to remove their own eyes from the stunning sundown.

Beautiful, it was.

Oh, it truly was.

"Yeah." I replied, not knowing what else to say.

She sighed, relaxing.

"It's a miracle, you know." She began, softly. "You standing here. Living, breathing, that heart bumping, that leg healing. It's a miracle."

I sighed too.

"Yeah, I know."

And it was a miracle. Glory, if only they knew how much of a miracle it was.

Christa smiled, gazing at me as I watched the sun lower.

"Ponyboy Curtis, you must have some angel watching over you."

I smiled, and as Darry's pickup rumbled to a start, Sodapop helped me into the backseat, laying my crutches beside me and shutting the door.

My brothers and the doctor shook hands, gave Christa a small hug and hopped in the truck too, looking behind at me and smiling.

Christa leaned into the window of the pickup, gave me a sweet goodbye, and kissed me on the cheek, making me blush and smile.

Dr. Johnson said a goodbye, reminding me of my medicine and to get lots of rest, than affectionately ruffling my hair.

We waved goodbye to the nurse and doctor as Darry pulled out of the parking lot, neither him nor Soda breaking their grins.

I continued to stare out the window, at the colourful sunset, at the painted pavement and decorated houses.

I looked at the sun, and saw his small hands sitting in the pockets of his collared jean jacket, rested upon his small shoulders.

I saw his grey shoes that were a size slightly smaller than that of his feet and those long, untied shoelaces that dangled to the floor.

I saw his jet-black, heavily greased hair that hung across his forehead.

I saw his big black eyes that looked up from under his long bangs, their sad, warm expression enough to melt a criminal's heart.

I saw his gentle, crooked smile that stretched across his face, leaving you unable to stop yourself from smiling too.

I heard his warm, comforting voice that sound through the air, it's melody heartfelt and reassuring.

As the bright sun said it's goodbye to Tulsa, glowing the red, orange, and yellow colours, I saw him.

But as the sun said it's beautiful farewell, I knew there'd always be another hello, another sunrise, another greeting.

When the sun would officially set, leaving the city dark and unpredictably, causing fear and distress, I remembered there would be a sunrise. The fear, distress and unhappiness wouldn't last forever, and the sun would rise again.

So as I watched the beautiful sunset out of Darry's pickup, and those big black eyes swarmed my thoughts, I knew the sun would rise again. I knew things would get better.

I thought about what Christa said.

 _"Ponyboy Curtis, you must have some angel watching over you."_

I smiled, and swear I could see that warm grin of his smiling back.

The beautiful colours shone on my face, but I didn't blink, just continued to smile.

"Yeah," I said to myself. "I sure do."

XXXX

DALLY'S POV:

I stood outside the Curtis's door, dragging on a cigarette to calm myself down before I headed in.

Laughter and music could be heard from inside, Ponyboy and the gang celebrating the kid's welcome home.

I smiled, rubbing my bloody knuckles, thinking about the crack of those soc's face as my fist happily jammed into them.

Oh, they were so damn scared, it was too funny.

Me and Tim, man, did we plummel them. Beat them to a fucking pulp.

Wasn't hard finding them; Tim and his gang had connections, you dig?

But who could blame us? Just because the kid begged the rumble to be canceled (who by the way I wasn't even aware knew about it) doesn't mean we weren't allowed to go after the bastards. They deserved every ounce of what they got.

"TWO-BIT, YOU IDIOT!" A yell sounded from inside, coming from no other than Steve Randle.

A ring of laughter followed.

I took a long drag on my cigarette, only to be interrupted by approaching footsteps.

"Dallas?"

Fuck. Just what I need, Superman on my case.

"How'd you know I was out here, Darry?"

He smirked. "Saw you through the window, man."

I glanced at the window behind me, seeing the open area of blinds.

 _Great._

"You know, I thought we all agreed for Ponyboy we weren't gonna go after those guys."

I blinked.

"Don't know what your talkin' about, Dar."

"Don't go lyin', I knew you'd go after em' anyways."

I shook my head. "Yeah? Well what'd you expect me to do? Let the bastards walk for what they did?"

Darry sighed.

"Tim was there, wasn't he?"

I eyed him.

"Ponyboy just said there was about five 'em, is all. Figured you needed some help."

I stamped on my cigarette.

"You underestimate my fighting skills, Darry." I scoffed.

He chuckled, looking down at his feet. "But Tim was there."

"Fine, yeah, Shephard was there."

He nodded, and an awkward silence fell over us.

"How's the kid?" I asked.

"He's good. Real good."

"Great."

Crickets sounded through the night and the night sky lit up with stars.

Darry sighed, and looked up, meeting my gaze.

"Dally, just answer me this, alright?"

I raised an eyebrow, but nodded.

Darry's head turned to the window as a familiar high-pitched laughed sounded from the house.

He looked back to me, and a grin found it's way across his face.

"Did you get em' good?"

I grinned, glancing at the window myself, then back to the smiling Superman.

"You hafta' ask?"

XXXX

* * *

XXXX

 _The end._


End file.
